Unforgiven, Love, Redemption
by TheShadowOnTheWall
Summary: Filled with hate, a noble killer. Filled with hope, an elf of the city. Cousland and Tabris. Both with secrets, loves and hates.
1. Chapter 1

**This fanfiction is based on the 'What If?' scenario of Duncan recruiting more than one Grey Warden. Enter a M/Cousland F/Tabris duo. These are my favourite origins, so if you don't like it, I apologise. I have modified some of the dialogue to reflect my visions of the different characters.**

**One more thing; I am English so I will be spelling everything thus, so when Alistair says 'Let's find the Archdemon and kick its ass' I will write it as '…kick its arse'.**

**This fanfiction takes place before (in the form of a _LONG _flashback) and after the defeat of the Archdemon, and shows the horrors of battling the tainted creature and its effect on the mind of the Hero of Fereldan and how his wife, Queen Anora, copes with it along with the mystery of Morrigan. Meanwhile our feisty heroine has her own problems to contend with; a romance with Leliana and the expectations of a race. Includes Awakening DLC and explores the years of DA2.**

**Thank you for putting up with me.**

* * *

**Prologue**

Pain. Terror. An unblinking eye of obsidian. A howl of pain. A roar of hate. The taste of blood.

A man's face. Pinched and cold, hale and heartless with a hawk–like nose. The face grinned and slowly the skin peeled and sloughed away to reveal cold white bone. The skull laughed at him and he fell into the yawning mouth.

He heard screaming in the far distance. A young woman screaming in halls that dripped blood and the paintings howled with mirth.

He saw a shadow like a dragon pass over the halls as he ran down them. A woman's voice that cackled and howled.

"Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight, Blight"

A scream. A roar. Maker, end the screaming! Tears of blood and fire.

Steel in his gut.

"Let me go!"

A voice of stone and fire, a voice of light and water.

A hand. Soft and cool against his cheek. Gold hair. A woman.

His friends are there. They call him, begging him to return, to wake up.

The woman is silent, but her tears wet his face. The tears are like sunlight; they scatter the Nightmares. He shudders and calms.

A memory. A smile upon a face as beautiful as the dawn.

But the Dreams come; he sees himself, he sees his hands.

They are red. Always. Forever red. They drip and his eyes are like roaring pits of ice and fire.

_Maker, what have I done?_

**Chapter One: A Day of Celebration; a day of Carnage**

**Lysa**

"Don't worry," said Soris, as the unconscious Bann Vaughan was carried off by Lord Jonaley, "he won't tell anyone that he was taken out by an elven woman."

"Maker," said Shianni still terrified by what she had done, "I hope you're right."

Lysa noticed she was shaking violently. Her skin was pale and her lips quivering. She reached out and stroked her cousin's arm, murmuring soothingly. Shianni nodded gratefully and smiled, albeit rather sickly. "I…had better go clean up."

She slowly staggered off in the direction of her house.

"What was all that about?" asked an elf woman who Lysa didn't recognise. She turned and frowned at Soris who she suddenly noticed was blushing.

"Looks like the Arl's son started drinking to early!" he laughed nervously.

"Um," stammered Soris, blushing even more. "Let's not let this spoil the day. Lysa, I am pleased to introduce you to my betrothed Valora."

Lysa resisted rolling her eyes at him. She couldn't see what was so bad about her. Her breasts were decent, her hips shapely and she had a kind, open face framed with brown hair. Her voice _was _squeaky but it wasn't so bad. She wondered what her fiancé was like.

_I hope he has red hair, _she thought, _I _adore_ red hair._

She smiled kindly at Valora who smiled shyly back and they exchanged a quick sisterly peck on the cheek.

"How was the trip from Highever?" she asked.

"Very peaceful," she said, then winced, "I was glad to get out of there." She leaned forward and said quietly, "The Teryn and his entire family all died in an attack on the castle. The local Arl said it was bandits." She suddenly stopped and stood up straight. "But that doesn't explain why he took over the castle."

Soris and Lysa exchanged a look. Teryn Cousland had been a good man by all accounts and a staunch friend to the elven Alienages since an elf had saved him in the Rebellion. Arl Rendon Howe however was another story.

Lysa turned back to Valora and said, "Sounds like you got out of there in the nick of time."

"Yes we did. Oh, here comes your fiancé."

She turned around and felt a pang of disappointment as she saw him.

_No red hair, _she thought as she saw his platinum blonde hair. But, she forced a smile and tried to focus on his good points. Grey-green eyes; tall; muscular; and his hands were soft as he smiled and raised her hand to his lips.

"Lysa Tabris I presume?" he said. His voice was quiet and soft like the tinkle of a small bell.

"Yes," she said blushing. He _seemed _nice; she just hoped he was as nice as he appeared. And he appeared _very _nice. She absently imagined him naked. The result was rather pleasing.

"I, as you probably know am Nelaros." He cleared his throat. "Nervous?" he asked and she noticed his throat was working hard as he spoke.

_He's scared, _she realised. She blushed deeper and answered, "I was until I saw you." She put all her effort into keeping her voice even and calm as she spoke, while also trying to sound coy and seductive.

"Well…er…thank you," he said, embarrassed and blushing harder. "Soris said you were very kind… and a wonderful speaker. To be honest I thought he was just trying to make you more attractive. Unnecessarily of course." He smiled again and kissed her hand again.

"Come on cousin," said Soris. He smiled nervously. "They need time to prepare."

"Don't run off," joked Valora as she walked off.

"Or we'll find you," grinned Nelaros as he departed.

The cousins let out a heartfelt sigh of relief as their fiancés left and looked at one another in joint despair.

"Can we swap?" she asked, half serious.

"Be my guest," he said. He stopped as he realised what he'd said and glowered at her as she giggled.

"I hate you," he grunted. "But you're welcome to Valora; I know what you like."

Soris was one of the few that knew; her father and Shianni being the others. Her father had no problem with her orientation, but she was his only child; the line needed to be carried on, and so here she was.

"Come on," she said, still laughing though more to keep up the pretence of happiness for any casual onlookers than for mirth, "We had better get ready."

Just as they turned to leave Soris swore and struck his thigh.

"Don't look now but I think we have another problem."

Lysa turned and, frowning, followed his gaze. "What? Is Vaughan back?"

"Worse," muttered Soris, pointing with a shaking finger.

Three strangers swathed in long grey cloaks and hoods that completely obscured their faces stood by the second gate to the Alienage. Though the cloaks hid their faces, Lysa could see each man wore armour of various makes and bore a sword; the leader wore a robe of crimson under Silverite and cured leather armour and bore a longsword and dagger; the second wore Grey Iron splintmail armour with a longsword and shield across his back on a baldric; and the last one wore heavy-chainmail armour forged from steel with two swords of Grey Iron jutting from his back. A mabari the colour of wheat sat alongside the last of the strangers. The leader removed his hood to reveal black hair tinged with grey drawn into a short queue and a small beard. His eyes were black as night and his skin weathered, like an old statue who has seen too many wars and too many deaths. His ears were round.

"Could be just random trouble-makers," said Soris dejectedly.

"Or worse," Lysa winced as she saw the mabari sidle up to a small child and start sniffing at him. The boy whimpered and looked up to the strangers for help. The owner-the one with the two blades-whistled at the beast and it barked once and walked back to the man.

"We should get them outa here before someone does something stupid," Soris said.

She turned and looked at him. He was shaking from head to foot and was paler than fresh milk.

She patted his arm encouragingly and slowly walked past the Vhenadahl. As they neared the men, Lysa became suddenly aware of how small the two of them were when compared to the men. On average, elves were several inches shorter than humans and she was considered small for her people. She only hoped that the men were not here for trouble.

As the two elves approached the mabari's master knelt by the hound and gently rubbed the huge beast's neck. The mabari whined in contentment and wagged his rear end in appreciation. The owner smiled slightly and stood, throwing back his hood and regarding the elves with electric blue eyes. Lysa nearly stopped dead in her tracks and felt something clench inside her chest; fear. He was tall and terrible with long hair the colour of midnight at the bottom of the ocean. His skin was clear and smooth, with a strong-jawed and handsome face bearing two scars, one on each cheek. It was his eyes that scared her; they were like lightning and yet burned like fire and were cold as ice. The mabari slowly rose and advanced on them, its great broad head twisted in a snarl. She looked down at it calmly and snarled in return.

To her surprise the great hound whimpered and cowered before her, making the master boom with laughter and ruffle the dog's head. He smiled up at her and said, "You're lucky; mabari often eat the people who challenge them." His voice was quiet and calm and yet seemed tinged with a faint hint of rage.

The third man laughed, and Lysa saw he had blonde hair cut short with a peak at the front. His jaw was covered in stubble and he had a broad jovial face.

His voice was also jovial as well as he said, "Careful, I've seen Rutger rip a hurlock clean open before you could say 'fetch'. Though now I think about it I did say 'Fetch hurlock innards'."

The leader sighed and bowed to her and Soris, in the elven fashion no less.

"Good day. Please excuse Alistair's feckless tongue. I hear congratulations are in order for the two of you on your impending weddings," he said.

Standing up straight and putting her bravest face on, Lysa spoke, saying, "Thank you, but please go. I would rather avoid any unpleasantness."

The leader's lips twitched slightly and he folded his arms.

"And what manner of unpleasantness might you be referring to?"

"This isn't a safe place for humans."

"I'm sorry," said he, and as one his fellows formed up behind him. "But we have no intention of leaving."

Lysa remained silent for a moment and, as her mother had taught her, began weighing up the opposition. The leader spoke deliberately and with care, so it was safe to assume his fighting skill would rely on pinpoint strikes and rapid blows. Alistair was jovial and bore a sword and shield, thus he would go on the defensive and wait for the opportune moment to strike. The last one would rely on one of the swords to defend with and the other to attack; most likely he would use the sword on the right-the more ornate one with a golden disc for a pommel and the gold cruciform crossguard- and the plain blade for defence. The mabari would most likely leap for the throat.

"Please," she said, earnestly looking into the leaders eyes. "Bann Vaughan was just in here and he left unconscious. If people are scared they'll do worse to you."

The men exchanged glances at the name but they remained resolute. The third man walked to her and shook his head. His face was devoid of all emotion but his eyes flickered with something strange, rage perhaps? Or mirth? Or perhaps a blend of the two? The fire behind his eyes intensified, so bright and terrible she stepped back a pace.

"And how will you make us leave?" he asked. His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he turned his back on her, as if offering his back for an attack.

She stiffened and automatically reached for the knife that wasn't there. She let her hand drop to her side and sighed in defeat. "Fine," she said. "Perhaps we could compromise? What are you here for?"

The leader laughed and suddenly, the body stances of all three men changed. The leader seemed to soften and Alistair grinned and leant on a nearby post though the third man didn't relax so much, it was more like he had opened a door and let a bit of warmth into his heart.

"Even in the face of three armed men and a ferocious mabari she still remains calm. A useful gift," said the leader and his weather-beaten face broke into a wide grin and he finished, "Would you not say Valendrian?"

She turned in shock as the white haired elder approached with a broad grin and said, "I would say the world has more use for those who know not to draw their blades."

To her surprise the elder embraced the leader like a brother, even greeting him with the old elven tongue of Elvhenan; "Aneth ara."

The leader grinned and returned, "Ma serannas."

"Ah Duncan," said the elder sadly, "It is good to see you again," he paused and turned to the two men. "But by your eyes and by your companions I can tell your heart is heavy."

Duncan nodded. "May I introduce my fellow Grey Wardens?"

The elder nodded and smiled wanly at the two men who bowed as they were introduced.

"Alistair, my aid and envoy to the Templars." Alistair bowed low and greeted the elder haltingly in elvish, much to Valendrian's delight.

"The mabari is Rutger." The dog barked and nonchalantly raised a leg.

"And this is the newest recruit to the Order; Draco." The third man bowed, greeted the elder and the two elves in almost perfect elvish.

"Ah, two fine men," said Valendrian. "Such warriors would not normally join the Wardens… unless…"

"Yes," said Duncan. "It is as you guess my friend; a Blight is upon us."

"Maker watch over us."

Gathering her courage Lysa bowed to the men and said, "Abelas, Ser Duncan. My most humble apologies. I did not know-"

Duncan waved aside her apology and studied her carefully.

"Is this Adaia's child?" he asked looking at Valendrian again.

The elder bristled and shook his head. "NO, Duncan. The Blight may be upon us but you can't have this child; her mother trained her, yes."

At this point Draco and Alistair began to look at her strangely.

"She is skilled, yes."

Draco nodded at Alistair. _What are those two thinking,_ she wondered.

"But she is the last of her line; her father is too old to give seed to a woman that would quicken. I know that Grey Wardens may still marry and bear children but-"

Duncan raised his hands in surrender. "Very well; I shall leave the child with her people. But," he raised a finger to emphasise his point, "I _must_ have more recruits. I will not force the point," said Duncan. "If no-one volunteers I will leave the matter alone." He sighed and his voice became sad. "I am sorry for being so demanding old friend but I must have Wardens."

The elder slowly nodded, "I would forgive you almost anything old friend. We shall speak more after the ceremony." He turned to the two of them. "Come; it is time."

Draco

Draco watched the small elf girl walk away. He wasn't one to stare openly at women that were attractive. But what he saw was appealing; hazel skin, short amber-red hair, green eyes flecked with brown and a petite nose with gorgeous lips. He thought idly about what she would look like naked, but angrily ground those thoughts into oblivion. He had no interest in the woman and he knew his attention would be unwelcome. He had seen her eye the women in the Alienage with more interest and longing than she had her handsome _male _suitor. Besides, he preferred blonde hair.

_Snap out of it, _he bellowed at himself in the confines of his skull. The iron walls of his self-control slammed down and he returned to glaring about himself.

"Draco, you ok in there?" Alistair asked.

"Yes," snapped Draco turning to him. "Why are you worried?"

"You seem angry, that's all." Alistair paused. "Well angrier than usual at any rate."

Draco glowered at him and he wisely chose to shut up. At times Draco really didn't know why he hadn't torn Alistair's throat out and eaten his heart. He snarled to himself and forced his violent Berserker rage into submission.

A few minutes later, the wedding couples had assembled and music, soft and clear, filled the Alienage. Duncan turned his head and motioned for his companions to follow him. Draco took up position with his back against the wall of the alienage store, Alistair leaning on the scaffolding nearby with Duncan near the dark and dismal alley-way. Rutger was busy scratching himself and sniffing the air. Slowly, as the Priestess started to speak, all three men turned suddenly to the mabari. Rutger had risen to his paws and was growling over at the main entrance.

Turning, Draco saw a platoon of some dozen men push their way through the crowd of elves. At their head was a noble, dressed in fine clothes of gold and scarlet. He knew the man instantly; Bann Vaughan. He had heard enough about the man to want to tear him apart right now. But he was a Grey Warden; they needed the nobles on their-

He stood bolt upright and reached for his family sword. Vaughan had climbed onto the dais and had spoken to the Priestess and the two couples, then had smacked Lysa to the floor, punched her fiancé and had nodded at his men. As one, the platoon drew their weapons and beat out at the guests, grabbing hold of five women, including the girl and had fought their way free of the press of elves. One elf tried to fight the guards, but was grabbed from behind by one while another opened him up. The sword dug into the elf's belly, sending a great crimson cloud over the guards. The sword was twisted, and drawn up, slowly. The elf's chest was torn open and his long scream ended with a gurgle. The sword was withdrawn, the corpse was released and the blade rose once more. The head exploded, sending bone, blood and brains across the crowd. The elves dissipated with screams of shock and terror.

The men pushed their way to the gates and left. The three Wardens moved forward. The elves moved aside in fear as the armed men approached. Draco knelt by the corpse. The face had been cloven in two, leaving it unrecognisable. Draco made the sign of the Flame over the man and said, "Maker grant you peace. Maker grant you justice."

Valendrian stared at him as he stood. He knew why. He could feel the anger and the hate, the contempt, burning inside him.

"We need to get them back," yelled Nelaros, who had just been brought back to consciousness and had been informed of what had happened.

"Normally I would council patience," said the elder, "Unfortunately stories about the arl's son are most… disturbing."

"Then we need to do something," cried Nelaros. "NOW!"

Draco continued to stare at the corpse.

"What can we do? It's the arl's palace," yelled another. "Even without the arl and his knights it'll still be guarded."

"I am no elf," said Alistair, startling the crowd. "But it seems to me there is only one course of action."

Valendrian nodded. An elf said, "I work in the palace. I think I could smuggle some elves in as servants, nobody would look twice."

"We could be in and out before anyone knew the difference," said Nelaros hopefully.

"I'm with you, Nelaros" said Soris. "They have my cousins. We can't leave them there."

"Duncan," the elder said, turning to him, "We need all the help we can get. Please…"

All eyes were on Duncan now. He sighed and shook his head.

"I…am sorry, old friend, but I cannot; the Wardens can't afford the hatred of the nobility."

"If I and Alistair remove our Warden amulets," put in Draco, drawing all eyes to him. "They will take us for mercenaries or guards. Duncan," he turned and gestured at the corpse. "The Wardens are here to protect people, everyone. We cannot stand idly by while others suffer."

Duncan looked at him with something akin to pride.

"You are your father's son," he said. "Go," he said turning to Alistair. "Do not kill anyone unless it is absolutely necessary."

Draco bowed and whistled. The crowd parted as Rutger approached. "Stay" he said and rubbed the mabari's neck before standing.

"Coming?" he asked Nelaros and Soris. They nodded and marched before him and Alistair resolutely.

"You'll need weapons," he said, following."We'll give you some of ours when we are at the palace."

"Thanks," grunted Nelaros.

The elf servant nodded at them and they walked out into the city.

_The Mansion_

"Looks like we'll have our hands full," muttered Alistair as they edged round the side of the gatehouse and watched the side path. Draco nodded. There were about a dozen mabari pacing up and down the path. They looked half-wild and very hungry. They stopped pacing and sniffed the air.

"Let's go," said Draco. He sprinted from cover, simultaneously drawing his family sword.

The mabari were little threat. The Sword of Highever culled them like wheat before the scythe, killing them as effortlessly as a spider kills a fly. Alistair carved through them with consummate ease while the elves remained hidden. A guard covered in blood was one thing, servants covered in blood was another. He wiped the fur and intestines from his sword and sheathed it across his back. He felt his rage subside into a hot pool in his gut. He motioned for the others to follow him and advanced. When they had carved their way through the garden and made their way to the side door. Here the elf servant left them, sprinting back to the Alienage.

Inside stood a guard, like the elf had said. He was easy to avoid; the stupid sod had drunk three bottles of ale and was snoring loudly. Draco tied him up and gagged him, so as to make the return journey easier. He turned to the elves and drew his second longsword, offering it to Nelaros. The elf accepted it and gripped it tightly in his hands. Alistair had a crossbow which he proffered to Soris along with a dozen quarrels. Thus armed they opened the door which the inebriated guard had been guarding. It was a kitchen, brightly lit by a roaring fire. Food lined all the walls and tables, half prepared and in storage. He saw his companions mouths water and felt the hunger born of the Taint rear its head in his belly but before he could do anything the cook had stepped out in front of him and was staring wide-eyed at the blood that coated the two men.

"Alistar Sendthren and Draco McTien," he explained hurriedly. "New guards." He glanced at himself as if noticing the blood for the first time and smiled ruefully. "Cut-purses on Green Street. We need to inform the Captain so we can deal with the others who got away."

He always amazed himself with his ability to bullshit.

The man's demeanour changed almost instantly. "You go on through good sirs," he said. "Captain's in his office." He stopped as he saw the two elves and jabbed a finger at them, snapping, "Who are you? Tell me who you are before I get the guards down here and clip your nasty ears."

Instinct kicked in.

A single, well-aimed blow at the throat with the palm of his hand shut the cook up. The man gurgled and gasped, staggering back. Draco kicked the fat fool in his gut, throwing the man into the wall. He drew his sword and with an elegant flick took the man's hand from his arm. The man opened his mouth to scream when Draco's foot smashed into his face. He fell to the floor unconscious.

"Was that necessary?" asked Alistair as he moved over to another door. Draco grunted and clenched his fist about his family sword.

"Remind me to never, ever, ever piss you off," said Alistair. The elves stared in horror injured man and looked at him fearfully. He nodded at the elf servant who had been cowering in the corner. "You better get out of here before the storm breaks." The elf didn't need telling twice.

"Why did you-"

"He was about to call the guards," snapped Draco. "He was a threat that I removed."

He pressed his ear to the door and listened intently. He could hear eight distinct voices, dice rolling and swearing.

"Eight men, seem to be off duty guards," he grunted. Alistair nodded and drew his sword, readying his shield. Draco turned to the elves. "Stay out of the main fight; deal with anyone who looks like they are about to escape."

Without waiting for a response he and Alistair donned their helmets and he opened the door.

The guards in the mess hall had a split second to see the two men each covered in blood with drawn swords, before they were upon them. Draco took one down with a power-blow from his left fist to the jaw before carving him open from hip to shoulder and rounded on another. He felt the Berserker rage swallow him up and he welcomed that release, giving in to the darkness.

_When you are a Berserker, you don't see like normal people. You don't have the advantage of normal faculties of sight and hearing. All you see is red._

A guard swam into his crimson vision, dark and foul like a bloated corpse. His sword was fast but Draco was faster. He took the blow, twisting his sword and thrusting forwards, dragging open the man's belly and dragging out his intestines and hurling them to the floor.

_When you feel the rage nothing can stop you. _The voice of the dwarf of Orzammar who had taught him echoed in his skull.

Another guard appeared. With a roar he vaulted over one of the tables and bore his foe to the ground and cracked his skull in with the pommel of his sword with a single blow. He felt a hand slam down on his shoulder. Knowing it to be prey he spun on his knees taking his enemies legs off at the knees. With a wordless roar of pain the prey fell but the rising sword took his head from his shoulders before he hit the ground. He rose and felt the red subside.

Alistair had slain two; one a headless corpse and the other with a thrust through the heart. Soris had shot another while Nelaros had torn the last two to pieces. Blood stained the floor and dried on the tables, while spilt organs and sundered bones dried in place. He looked down on the corpse of the second foe, the one whose skull he had caved in. He could see the faint grey of brain and the white of bone through the ragged wound. The guard looked young. Too young.

He had killed many now and the Berserker in him loved it. _This is fun, _he thought.

A scream tore through the mansion as they advanced down the corridor. There had been no more guards to deal with so they had made good progress. The scream echoed down the corridors again.

Draco whipped about to Nelaros. "Stand guard here" he yelled and sprinted off, followed by Soris and Alistair. The palace was grandly decorated and the walls lined with many regal tapestries and ornaments, but these were ignored by the companions as they followed the sounds of fear, and pain. Finally, he saw an open side door with five guards inside. He heard raised voices and a heart-rending cry. A flash of red scorched the air. Three guards left the room with three women in tow. Soris stiffened; Draco guessed one was his bride. Five had come; three they saw, one was dead and the other…

Well he'd deal with that when he came to it.

Lysa

Nelaros lay in the centre of the hall, his chest carved open and his organs across the floor. Draco rose from the desecrated corpse of a guard covered in gore and offal. Soris knelt by Nelaros while Alistair cleaned his bloodied sword. Lysa stowed the bow that she had taken from one of the unfortunate guards that had annoyed Draco. Parts of the previous owner still clung to the bowstring. She knelt beside Nelaros and dimly heard Soris say, "Nelaros…I'm so sorry."

"He died trying to save me," she whispered. She looked at him differently now, realising how kind and brave he was. _He would have made a fine husband, _she thought.

"Let's make sure he didn't die for nothing," said Draco. He knelt down by Nelaros and gently reclaimed his second sword. She leant forward and gently pressed her lips to Nelaros's. She stood and followed the two Wardens.

She prayed that they wouldn't be too late for Shianni and the others. She could just imagine what Vaughan would do if he had the chance. She felt a cold anger deep in her breast as she thought of him. By the Maker and the old gods of the Dales, she would make the bastard pay.

They turned down twisting and convoluting passages and corridors until, at last, they stood before Vaughan's room. They heard sobbing from inside. Without a word Draco's heavy boot kicked in the door.

Shianni was on the floor, naked and bleeding. Her breasts were rent and torn and blood trickled from them onto her stomach. Her eyes were wide and staring and red-rimmed. Tears coursed down her cheeks. But it was her legs that drew Lysa's attention. They were covered in blood and...and…

She turned to Vaughan, who stood confidently and said, "My, my, what have we here?" He was surrounded by three guards and the lords she had seen earlier.

She suddenly realised he was naked. His groin was drenched in blood.

"Admiring my handiwork?" he asked smugly. "I'm so sorry you had to see me like this but I haven't got this knife-eared whore," here he grabbed Shianni and hauled her so she was kneeling in front of his loins, "To clean up the mess her maidenhood made."

He smiled and looked down at Shianni. "Clean it." Her tongue slowly crept out and-

_Snap_.

She saw a blur of movement and realised it was an arrow. She had shot one of the lords in the groin.

_Slash_.

Draco and Alistair were blurs of steel and blood as they carved through the men with a deadly and consummate ease. They were like to ships on a stormy sea; ploughing through anything in their path.

Soris was firing quarrel after quarrel into the battle following her lead.

Soon only corpses remained. Draco spat at the men but before he could do more, or before anyone could stop her, she had torn his swords from his grip and they had risen and fallen. She stood thus awhile, venting a rage and contempt that scared her even as she obliterated the corpses. Not until all the bodies were unrecognisable smears of blood, organs, bone and offal did she stand. Her face was smeared in blood. She passed the blades back to Draco and then, overcome by the horrors of what had happened, vomited across the blood splattered floor.

Shianni was sobbing in the corner, shying away from the three men. Her eyes were wide and horrified as she stared about the room. Weeping, Lysa drew her friend close.

"That bastard!" roared Alistair, his face a rictus of anger as he ripped his helm from his face. "Vaughan escaped!"

"What!" screamed Draco, tearing off his own helmet and scanning the corpses. It was true, she could see. The bastard must have escaped through the door while Draco and Alistair was pulverising the enemy.

"When I find him," whispered Draco, his voice dripping with venom and rage. The man seemed to shudder and he turned to a side door that had been overlooked. He walked over to it and opened it.

He received a frying pan to the face.

"OW, you silly sod!" he roared, rubbing his face. "Fine thanks for butchering sixteen men in a rescue attempt."

The elf women slowly left the room, Valora apologising for the blow.

"Think nothing of it," he said, waving his hand. "Just watch your step." He glanced inside the room and shook his head at Lysa. The others were not so lucky.

Valora gazed about at the bloodshed in horror and stared at the blood-stained floor and walls. Lysa wetted her lips and asked, "Did he… Did Vaughan?" Aside from a few bruises she looked alright, but she didn't know whether or not Shianni had been the first or the successor to his attentions.

"No," said she. "Where's Shianni?"

Valora stopped as she saw Shianni. Tears welled up in her eyes and she looked at the bloodshed with approval. Alistair turned to the armoire and began digging around.

"Either that scumbag is a cross-dresser," he said drawing out a large, heavy box, "Or..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence.

Draco pulled a simple dress of white and red, passing it to Lysa.

She nodded her thanks and gently helped the insensible Shianni into the dress. She noticed, with a slight approval, that the two men were pointedly looking away from Shianni's nakedness as she was dressed. She smiled slightly as she saw Soris kissing Valora, and swearing he would always protect her. Draco led the way from the room and out of the palace into the sunlight.

_The Alienage_

Duncan was the first to greet them. He looked at them and saw the blood on Shianni's clothes and the harsh manner softened. He offered an arm to Shianni and, hesitantly, she took it. Valendrian and the others ran over with words of relief and joy. But it was short-lived.

"Has Shianni been hurt?" he asked. "Where are the others?"

Lysa felt tears coming to her eyes and turned to Draco and Alistair. Draco bore two corpses while Alistair bore another. Soris came last with Valora; he bore Nelaros in his arms.

"Vaughan escaped," said Draco as the three men put the bodies on the ground beside the vhenadahl respectfully. "The women are… untouched," he stopped and turned to Shianni. "Bar…"

The atmosphere in the Alienage changed instantly. The elves were angry and barked for justice, however, Lysa was pleased none of the animosity was directed at Draco or Alistair. In fact the elves were thanking them for rescuing the women and were even offering them money and gifts, which were politely refused.

_They are good men, _she though, surprising herself. She had seen the terrible things humans could do, but she was pleased to know that her two companions weren't like that.

_Or are they? Draco is…_She quashed the thought and returned her gaze to Shianni who was still leaning on Duncan. The Warden slowly guided her to a seat and placed her there gently.

There was fire in his eyes as he returned to them and he said, "Vaughan escaped did you say?"

Lysa nodded and snarled in acknowledgement. "That bastard got away. He rapes elvish women and girls and he gets away with it. The stupid, motherfucking shemlen bastard."

Duncan turned to Valendrian and said, "The garrison will be here as soon as they discover the bloodshed. You have little time." He turned to the Wardens. "Clean the blood from your armour and don your cloaks and amulets, I do not wish to see you in gaol."

Lysa stared at her hands then asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not sure what to do."

Duncan looked at her kindly as his Wardens washed the blood and grime from their arms and armour.

"The guards are here!" screamed an elf as the gates creaked open.

"Don't panic," cried the elder, "Let us see what comes of this."

The platoon of guards stood still as their commander stepped forward. Lysa took heart from the fact that they bore the arms of Denerim on their shields and not the mark of House Urien.

"I seek Valendrian, elder and administrator of the Alienage!" he cried in a loud voice.

"Here Captain," said he, standing forward from the crowd. "I take it you have come in response to today's disruption?"

"Do not play ignorant with me, elder. You will not prevent justice from being done."

The captain turned and called out, "A river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names and I need them now!"

Suddenly a soft, calm voice spoke saying, "It was my doing." Lysa didn't know who had spoken, until she realised it was herself.

The captain looked down on her with a strange look on his face. "I find it hard to believe that one woman did all that."

Valendrain spoke out, saying, "We are not all so helpless, Captain."

The captain nodded then turned to her. "I have heard the evidence that the arl's son laid before us," he turned then to the Wardens and saw their mark. "But by the knowledge of those that helped you, I feel that I should ask your view of what happened."

Draco spoke out, surprising her as he explained the day, the fight and her actions. The guards were silent at first but as the story unfolded they began to mutter among themselves, first with surprise and then outrage. She was even surprised by the captain's reaction. He nodded and looked at her with approval. "The law is the law," he said. "You will still be punished. But," he said, raising a hand to stall the elder's exclamation, "I will make sure that the arl and the city know what happened here today. Bann Vaughan will not get away with it I promise you."

"Then I accept my fate," she said and stepped forward, only to be stopped by the mabari Rutger, walking in front of her and sitting down, growling.

"Captain…a word if you please," said Duncan.

"What is it, Grey Warden?"

"I invoke the Wardens Right of Conscription," he said, "I remove her into my custody."

The captain and his men surprised her again by suddenly smiling and the captain nodded with approval. Lysa frowned and looked at Valendrian. He was watching her with sad, old eyes. She could see a tear in the corner of his right eye and, even as she watched, she saw it slip down his craggy skin.

"Very well," said the captain. "She must be out of the city today. I must leave now and make sure my men are on the street before news of this hits. Move out!" The captain and his men turned about and left. She felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Alistair. He grinned down at her and crowed out, "Welcome to the Grey Wardens!"

"What?" she exclaimed, hardly believing his words. _I can't be a Grey Warden… The Right of Conscription. I've been _Conscripted_! _She stared at Duncan in amazement.

"Say your goodbyes. We leave immediately," he said. He then turned to Valendrian. "It was either this or her head on a spike." Valendrian nodded but remained silent. "Is there a little girl called Amethyne here?" continued Duncan. "Draco has news of her mother, Iona."

She stole a glance at Draco and was scared by what she saw; a flicker of sadness and guilt in his eyes.

The girl stepped forward from the crowd. She had dark hair and big, blue eyes. Draco turned and knelt by her. "I…" he began, then stopped. "Iona…won't be coming home, little one."

She saw a ripple pass through the crowd at his words. Amethyne looked up at him and her soft voice asked, "Why isn't Mama coming home?"

Draco bowed his head. Amethyne's sobs echoed in the quiet square and the vhenadahl seemed to bend its boughs towards the soft crying of the child.

Her goodbyes were said; Shianni had kissed her cheek and cried though her eyes were still wide and empty; Soris had embraced her and Valora had thanked her, both promising her that they would never forget her and that they would have a long and happy marriage; her father had blessed her and wept as she left. The gates were open, and the Wardens marched out into the city. She followed after them, hefting her pack, and casting one last look at the Alienage. She could see them there, across the narrow bridge. They were waving and cheering two words, over and over again.

"Grey Warden! Grey Warden! GREY WARDEN!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**The Clouds of War**

_Ostagar_

**Lysa**

Three weeks upon the road had done little to temper the hate she felt inside, but slowly, gradually, Lysa was being drawn more and more to her rescuers. Despite his glum and gritty appearance, Duncan had a heart of gold, always the first to laugh and the last to stop. Alistair was constantly joking and always there to help, and his cooking was a vast improvement to the usual fare of the Alienage. Even Draco was pleasant, his violent nature sinking away the further they had travelled from Denerim, though he still remained silent for many hours a day.

Her mind snapped back to the present as Rutger started barking, racing around them, darting between their legs, letting out his deep growl. She looked up and her mouth dropped. She had heard of Ostagar, but nothing she could have imagined prepared her for the sheer size and scale of the ruins. Soaring towers pierced the sky like lances, great bridges linking the fortress floors and outposts like a colossal spider web, and thousands upon thousands of soldiers marching and drilling across the plain and amid the many miles of ruins.

"Nearly a hundred thousand swords," murmured Draco as the forest receded behind them. "About half the army of Fereldan is gathered here."

Lysa shook her head, unable to comprehend the sheer size of the army amassed before them. This was the population of Denerim on the warpath. She shook her head and gulped. Draco bounded up onto a boulder and stood there staring out, his eyes scanning the fort intently. He turned and called back, "The king is at the bridge." Duncan nodded and waved them on. Lysa gulped in trepidation. A few weeks ago she had been little more than an unknown drudge, working in the taverns and inns of Denerim, and now she was a Grey Warden, about to meet the King of Fereldan.

As they strode forward, marching towards the bridge, Lysa saw the king. It would be impossible to mistake him for anyone else; the golden armour shone like a lance of bronze lightning in the sunlight, the silverite greatsword shinning like dappled sunlight on water. His guards were all equally resplendent, their silverite plate gleaming as the companions approached. Cailan strode forward with his guards, easily reaching the end of the bridge and crossing out into the ruins below the temple before they arrived. The king had long blonde hair and a broad smile. He reminded Lysa of someone.

The king stepped forward and clasped Duncan's arm. Duncan shook his head. "My king, I didn't expect-"

"A royal welcome?" laughed the man, grinning broadly. He clapped Duncan's shoulder and laughed again. "I was worried you would miss out on all the fun!"

Duncan's lips twitched and he nodded. "_Not_ if I could help it, Your Grace."

"Then I shall have the mighty Duncan at my side after all," exclaimed the young king, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth. "_Glorious_."

He turned and suddenly his face fell as he beheld Draco.

The young noble stared coldly at him before bowing and saying, "Your Majesty."

Lysa's eyes narrowed slightly as she watched them. Some shadow had once again passed over Draco, his eyes narrow, his breathing tight and controlled. The king nodded at him and ignored Alistair completely. Her eyes narrowed further. Cailan then turned to her. His face lightened almost immediately and he waved a hand at her. "The missive said you had found a new recruit. I take it that this is she?"

"Yes," said Duncan turning and nodding to her. She stepped forward, bowing and making the slow, flowing gesture of fealty that was sacred to the elves, her fingers making slow curves and trails in the air.

The king stood before her and smiled. "Ho there friend! I see you're and elf. Might I ask your name?"

"Lysa," she murmured, watching his eyes carefully. She noticed his eyes roaming all over her body and felt a surge of anger. She also felt a wave of something from Draco as Cailan stared at her.

"May I ask where you hail from?" The question snapped her back to the matter at hand and she noticed that his gaze lingered on her chest. Suddenly deciding to bring his down a peg or two, she chose her response accordingly; "From the Denerim Alienage, obviously my lord."

The king looked at her sharply. "My guards all but forbid me from entering. What is it like?"

"I was nearly arrested for defending myself from the son of the Arl of Denerim, who had raped my cousin." _That _ought to do it.

The Kings eyes widened until it seemed they would pop from their sockets and he spun around to stare at Duncan. "Is this true?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite as bluntly as that, but yes," replied Duncan, nodding grimly. The king shook his head and turned back to her. "The moment we are through with this incursion, I swear to you, I will make sure Vaughan is brought to heel...Violently."

Lysa curtsied, "Thank you, Your Grace." It made up for his roving eye. She felt a lot better now, the unseen pain clenched in her heart slowly unclenching at the verbal oath to destroy Vaughan. It helped her to feel better about failing Shianni.

The King nodded and walked back towards the bridge, motioning for them to follow.

"Incursion?" asked Duncan, frowning, his eyes narrowed and hooded.

The King nodded. "None of the reports state anything about a dragon."

The three full-blooded Wardens all glanced at each other.

"Disappointed, you Majesty?" asked Duncan, his eyes betraying the worry hidden by his jovial tone.

"Of course," stated the King, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I was hoping for a battle like the legends," he sighed sadly and grinned at them, "But this will do! Till tonight Duncan!"

And with that, he turned on his heel, and led his guards out over the bridge and towards the camp.

The Wardens glanced at each other. "Well, that was informative."

"Shut it Alistair."

An _incursion_.

That was surely an understatement. Draco snorted as he stood in the ruin of a small domed tower, jutting out over the field far below, his arms folded and his cloak pulled tight against the cold, the wind curling its fingers into his hair and tugging at the long black locks. He sighed and grimaced, running a finger around the pommel. He slowly drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cold crisp air as he waited. He tilted his head and stared into the oncoming storm, keeping a lookout for the encroaching horde.

He turned as he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Lysa, dressed in light armour of steel chainmail, covered in a leather tunic and leggings. Her bow was hung over her shoulder while her collection of steel and grey iron knives hung at her belt. "Duncan wants to see us over at the ruins," she said, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. He nodded and waved over a nearby soldier.

"Keep an eye open here till I return," he barked over the howl of the wind.

"Yes, ser!"

They walked back across the command camp, dodging past Templars, Magi, soldiers and Tranquil until they reached the circle of ruins in the far north-eastern corner of the fortress. He glanced over and saw Alistair and Duncan mixing phials and bottles of liquids before pouring them into a huge silver goblet. Draco felt a sudden stab of pain and grabbed Lysa's arms, turning her to face him, her face surprised and scared. She stared into his eyes as he hissed, "This is it Lysa; you can't back out now."

"I know that," she started to say, but his glare stopped her.

"When he offers you the cup, he will tell you what is involved," he hissed, glancing over his shoulder to Alistair and Duncan. They were still busy working on the draught. "It will scare you, but don't run away. We'll have to _kill_ you."

Lysa stared at him, her mouth slack and eyes blank, then, she slowly nodded at him, her every member shaking violently like she was in the grip of a fever. She nodded again and he released her. She smiled sickly at him and walked over to Duncan. He turned to her holding the goblet in both hands, the moonlight reflecting off the silver and the large lapis lazuli in the centre of the handle. Alistair walked over to Draco and stood beside him. Rutger was lying nearby his eyes fixed on the goblet, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

"Lysa Tabris," spoke Duncan, the wind clawing at his words, "Do you accept your position as a Grey Warden, full knowing that your life now is but a ceaseless struggle against the 'spawn that ravage our world?"

Lysa was still shaking but, unbowed, nodded and gazed straight at Duncan, her hands clasped at her sides.

"Will you still take this calling, knowing that this goblet may take your life, the pollution within it will take your fertility and that one day you shall fall beneath the sword of the spawn?"

Lysa sobbed silently and nodded, a small tear streaking down her face at the mention of 'fertility'.

"Draco," murmured Duncan, nodding to him imperceptibly.

Draco stepped forward, laying his right fist on his breast and spoke the words, "Since the first, these words have been spoken at the ceremony: Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."

Lysa slowly took the goblet, raised it to her lips and drank. For a heartbeat the only sound was the wind in the trees. Then, suddenly, she fell to the floor, her eyes widening and the sclera expanding and her irises vanishing into the foamy whiteness. Her mouth opened and a wordless howl of agony echoed forth, shaking her entire frame. From behind came the tramp of many feet running forward to see what was happening. Wordlessly Draco strode away, his mighty frame filling the entrance to the secluded ruins, stopping the interlopers who wanted to see what the Joining entailed. The twenty Templars, dozen mages, and thirty others slid to a halt as he stood there, his arms folded his scowl dark and deadly. Without a word they slowly turned and left, glancing back towards the ruins.

Draco suddenly heard the sharp hiss of steel being drawn behind him. He closed his eyes, a small tear trickling down from his eye as he waited for the soft thump of the guard hitting the soft skin of her stomach. But it never came.

His face suddenly split into a huge, insane grin as he heard the sharp intake of breath drawn from terrified lips. The rain pelted his face as he stared into the sky, his hair slick with the water.

Down in the camp, hundreds were turned to the hill where he stood, and they saw the sudden flash of lightning strike, its brilliance lighting him like a dark angel, his teeth flashing like a star, his deep laughter echoing above the storm.

Huddling beneath the hastily erected tent the commanders stood, the rain pelting it like arrows fired from some heavenly host. Loghain stood beside Cailan, waving his arms and snapping angrily, his eye's glaring daggers at the young King. Draco zoned out of the conversation for a while until he felt the gaze of the king upon himself and Lysa. He stood to attention, holding his contempt for the man in check as he listened to his words; "Duncan, are your recruits ready?"

"They are, Your Majesty."

Cailan nodded and smiled at Lysa. "Congratulations, madam. It is an honour to be part of the Grey Wardens."

Lysa nodded and bowed slightly. "Yes, it is my lord."

Draco smiled slightly; she hadn't called him king.

"Good, we will need the Wardens before this is over."

Loghain growled and snapped, "Your fixation on glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to _reality_!"

Cailan turned to Loghain and sighed, "Fine let us hear your plan then." They leant down to the map showing Ostagar and the surrounding fields. "The Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn into charging our lines, and then...?"

Loghain jabbed a finger at the Tower of Ishal on the map; "You will alert the tower to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover."

"To flank the darkspawn, I remember." The expression on Loghains face seemed to doubt that. "This is the Tower of Ishal, in the ruins, yes? Who shall light this beacon?"

Loghain stood up. "I have a few men posted there. It is a small task but it is vital."

Something about his manner made Draco narrow his eyes.

"Then we should send our best," said the king, suddenly. "Send Alistair, Draco and Lysa to the Tower."

_That _was surprising.

"What, we don't get to fight?" Draco snapped.

"It is vital," interjected Duncan. "Without it, the Teryn won't know when to attack."

Cailan nodded.

As the rest began bickering Draco and Lysa prepared to move off, when Cailan grabbed Draco's arm.

"The hound must not fall," he whispered, gazing imploringly into Draco's eyes. Draco frowned at him, then, he understood. He glanced between Alistair and Cailan and nodded.

"Not while the dragon can fight."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER Three: Into the Cradle**

Lysa rubbed her bruised forehead, grimacing at the sting from the fall. She sighed and took another swig from the skin in her fist. Her head throbbed like a hundred shemlens were dancing in it. She swore and took another swig. Draco wrenched it from her grip and drank deeply. "You're not the only one with problems," he growled stiffly. Rutger sneezed at the smell of alchohol.

Duncan gave the three wardens a once-over, his eyes drifting over their gear, making sure that his protégées were all as well protected as possible. Lysa fiddled with the straps of her leather armour while Draco tightened his heavy chainmail and Alistair began loosening and re-tightening his armour, each of them checking and re-checking their weapons, the swords sharp and the arrows keen.

Duncan looked sombrely at his young charges, his mind turning over their stories and pasts. He turned and stared at the fires at the mouth of the valley, throwing their bloody light onto the field, raising a thousand shadows of black across the earth.

Draco sighed and cast his eyes over Alistair, examining his hunched back as he sat on the rock nearby the fire, sharpening his sword on the whetstone, the sharp hiss grating on their ears. Draco quietly watched him, thinking over the words of Cailan. They left him in no doubt of what the monarch wanted, and whatever he thought of Cailan, he would still do it. Draco rolled the alcohol around his mouth, savouring the bitter taste before swallowing and handing the skin back to Lysa, who took an equally large swig. She rubbed her head and grimaced. "I don't know which is worse," she muttered finally, staring at the Oath Pendant around her neck, its dull grey metal glowing in the firelight, "The Joining or the ale."

"The ale," muttered Draco, drawing out a small throwing knife, seemingly from nowhere, and tossing it in his hand. "Where the hell did you draw that from?" asked Alistair in surprise, eyeing Draco's armour suspiciously. "Mhh," shrugged Draco.

Duncan allowed himself a small, sad smile.

"As you heard," he said, drawing their eyes to him. "King Cailan wishes you to go to the top of the Tower of Ishal and light the beacon, signally Teyrn Loghain and his men to charge from cover."

"What?" yelped Alistair, looking like a wounded puppy, "We won't be fighting in the battle?"

"Alistair," Duncan replied, his dark eyes flashing, "This may not be glorious battle but it is necessary to victory."

"Fine, fine," said Alistair, raising his hands in defeat. "But know this; if the King asks me to dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line, Darkspawn or no."

Lysa and Draco looked at Alistair out of the corner of their eyes. "Way to make a stand," muttered Lysa, grinning. "Thanks; I pride myself on my self-respect."

Draco and Duncan snorted in unison. Duncan turned away from them, gazing into the fire, and when he spoke, he didn't sound like the kind, grim man they knew and respected; he sounded old, tired and sad. "There is a chance that the Archdemon may appear," he said quietly, raising his head to the moon and listening to the tramp of feet as the army drew itself into position. "It is a slim chance," he murmured, turning back to them, and now there was a fire in his eyes. "But a possibility none the less. Should that happen, do nothing. Leave it to us in the vanguard. Should we fall…" he looked away, gazing at the Wilds, before returning his gaze to them, "It will make me feel happier knowing that you three still live, and that there may still be a chance to kill the Archdemon, should we fail."

Lysa felt tears prick at her eyes and angrily wiped them away. She had only known Duncan for just over a month, but in a strange way, she loved him, like a gruff, but gentle uncle. Alistair and Draco looked just as upset, however Draco looked more calm about it, or maybe just more angry.

"May the Maker watch over us all," murmured Duncan. "Kurgash navataal, Duncan," said Draco, speaking in a deep guttural language, and all three of them whipped about to face him, stunned by the odd tongue. He looked at them and shrugged; "In Highever, we still hold on to a few of our old Alamarri traditions, including the '_Theden'gamote_', the 'Language of the Seashore'."

Duncan suddenly burst into a peal of laughter, "And kurgash navataal to you all!"

He smiled at them once more and whispered, "Your Brothers and Sisters will be proud of you." And slowly he walked away, looking for all the world like a king of old, resurrected from the old stories as the lightning flashed.

Reluctantly they turned and moved towards the tower, Rutger leaping ahead, bounding forwards in great strides. "Dareth shiral, Duncan," muttered Lysa.

"Draco," said Alistair as they neared the bridge.

"Hmm?"

"What does kurgash navataal mean?"

"Death or glory."

As they crossed the bridge all four of them were thrown to the ground by a titanic explosion. Draco and Alistair rolled near the side while Lysa found herself hanging over it, remaining on the bridge only by virtue of Rutger grabbing her skirt with his fangs. She could see the soldiers charging forward, milling about like tiny ants as the advanced towards the Darkspawn. Pushing herself from the edge she ruffled Rutgers ears and looked around and felt a bucketful of ice cascade into her stomach.

She could see Draco and Alistair standing nearby, legs braced and arms locked in position as they stared down into the valley, where the two armies met. She had thought their army was vast, but it was like a mabari taking on a dragon. She could see the Darkspawn horde, easily four or five times the size of the Fereldan army spread out across the plain like a swarm of locus, she could count the fires and torches they had, she could hear the cries, she could-

Somewhere deep inside her soul, _something _stirred, spreading its wings and tensing within her. She could _hear_ a whispering in her ears; a quiet hissing voice, like snakes slithering over each other, and yet it boomed like a thousand roaring lions. She shivered as she heard the…_thing_…calling to her, drawing her near, and readying itself to eat her out from within.

She felt Draco turn back and grab her arm and haul her to her feet, yelling at her to move. The bridge shook again as rocks fired from ballistae and catapults hidden amongst the trees hit the stone. She shuddered and ran forward, following her friends ignoring the screams of the dying men around her.

The battle of Ostagar had begun.

Draco panted heavily as they ran towards the tower. His head ached with the effort of suppressing the Call of the Darkspawn and his heart burned with the resisted urge to throw himself into the Berserker Rage and _hit _something. He pushed himself onwards up the ramp that divided the Tower on its hill from the lower levels. However he pulled up short when two haggard and beaten men appeared from beneath the archway. One was a soldier, bearing the arms of Gwaren, and the other a rather shabby looking mage. The mage bore a long thin gash over his abdomen and the soldier nursed a badly damaged arm. However, when he saw the Wardens the soldier raised a hand to stop them. "Warden's," he wheezed, "The Tower…it's been taken!"

Alistair and Lysa stared in shock, but Draco reacted first. "Taken," he barked, "Taken how?"

"Darkspawn swarmed through the lower levels," answered the mage, grimacing and pointing to the tower. "Most of the men are dead, but a few are outside, trying to retake the damned thing."

Draco nodded and grunted. "Go to the King's camp, see if you can round up any support troops," he said to the soldier who ran off with a quick, "Yesser!"

Draco pointed the mage, "Can you help us?"

The mage grunted and nodded, pushing himself upright. "Wulf, at your service."

"Draco, Lysa and Alistair at yours," replied Draco Drawing his sword. "Lets give the spawn a taste of metal."

As they neared the main door to the tower, Draco drew his two swords and pumped up his adrenaline to the maximum, drawing out his rage. As soon as the world shifted into the familiar darkened hues he began to scan the area for the spawn. He saw them, a dozen of them up ahead. Letting out a feral war cry in the _Theden'gamote _he sped up and was upon them before they knew what hit them. A Hurlock lifted its broad bladed to block his Family Blade, but his left sword caved in its side, before both were wiped around in a quick forward arc decapitating another and disarming a third. Alistair was next into the fray, his shield taking the blow meant to end Draco while his sword shot out and impaled the would be killer, killing the Hurlock. Using the body as a projectile, Alistair kicked it off his sword into a gunlock before quickly stabbing it to finish it. With four already dead the remaining spawn swarmed them, their harsh cries matching their wicked strength. However, Rutger bowled over one of them and ripped its throat out before it could swing its battleaxe. A gunlock managed to slip a dagger into Draco's thigh but he shrugged it off and cut its head in two. Meanwhile Wulf, who had been standing away from the fight, murmuring in the magical language, finally took action. Soundlessly, he mouthed the last syllable of the enchantment and twisted his hands. With a soft _whoof _the blades of the two warriors were coated in flickering fire. Draco and Alistair took the surprising development in their stride and used the heated blades to cut through their enemies armour, bisecting their enemies in explosions of blood. Lysa, who had hung back with Wulf, dropped to her knees and began firing arrow after arrow towards the Tower, where more Darkspawn were emerging, drawn to the sound of conflict. This was the first time Lysa had seen the creatures, and were it not for the fact that she was a Grey Warden, she would have run away into the night in terror. Their sickly, oily looking skin, their empty eyes, their sharp teeth and screeching voices froze her blood. But she forced herself to take another arrow and carry on shooting.

Draco disembowelled the last of the creatures, and rose from his kill, painted with their dark blood, before turning to meet the group that Lysa held at bay. Three of their kin lay behind them, their bodies riddled with red fletched arrows, and they had responded to the danger with an intelligence that made him pause. The spawn that possessed them had lifted shields before them, while those that hadn't hunkered down behind them, gripping their wicked blades and blunt weapons or notching barbed arrows to string. In the middle he could see a Hurlock Alpha, bearing a crude but lethal looking battle axe, who seemed to be directing the assault. He could see the dead bodies of the soldiers that Wulf and the soldier had mentioned littering the ground outside the tower. He lifted his swords in front of him in an X shape, and began to jog around the flank of the spawn, drawing the notice of the Alpha. It growled a command and two archers turned to him, lifting their bows to aim at his torso. Just then Wulf called out a few words that made no sense to any, and an orb of fire lanced out from the staff he bore smiting the phalanx in a torrent of red and gold. A dozen fell, cooked alive in their armour or incinerated, while the others shrieked and leapt away. Sensing their chance, Draco, Alistair and Rutger pounced on the stunned monsters. Rutger bowled through them, knocking tow to the ground before using his claws to cut another Genlock down. Alistair likewise used his shield to push one back before using two backhanded cuts to take down another. Draco cut one in two before slicing another across the chest. He then spun his swords to meet the alpha head on, but it blocked the blow with the haft of its axe. With a deft twist of its wrists it pulled the swords away from Draco, using the lower curve of the axehead like a fishhook. Draco managed to retain his Family blade however which he used to hack at the creatures helmed head. Before he knew it, he felt the tip of the other axehead slip into his side, piercing through the plate and mail and cutting him. It wasn't so much the cut that hurt, rather the blow had forced some of the armour in, bruising and winding him, forcing him to take a step back. Gritting his teeth, he lithely swerved around the swinging blade, ducking and bobbing like a heron. He managed to pierce the brutes chest with his sword when it over extended itself and with the creature unable to fight he wiped out his sword and decapitated it. He sighed in relief and seeing the last of the creatures slain glanced at his side. He winced as he moved his left arm, tugging at the muscles in his side. He would be unable to use both swords, he would have to use his right hand alone, or a dagger in his left. He knelt and retrieved his lost sword, sheathing the still glowing blade across his back. He knew the enchanted fire only hurt or damaged those classed as 'enemies' by the enchanter. He leant on his sword and looked at the others. Rutger and Alistair were mostly unscathed, only sharing a few cuts and bruises between them; Wulf was looking shaken and drawn and breathing heavily, using so much magic without pause had winded him; and Lysa was unharmed, though her quiver was empty and she was now hurriedly picking through the dead for her arrows as well as any suitable arrows from the spawn. He nodded at Wulf, "Nice trick you pulled there. Thanks."

Wulf nodded and wheezed, before taking a sip from a glass bottle containing a deep blue liquid, the lyrium potion revitalising him. "Sorry," he gasped as they moved towards the gate, "I'm not going to blow us up, but I'm not one of the best."

Alistair grinned as he and Draco hauled at the door. "So long as you can still pull a stunt like that one again, I'm happy."

The first thing that struck them as they entered the tower wasn't the beautiful marble walls or the rich murals, or even the sight of the wonderful mosaics; it was the smell. Rutger retched and recoiled, wrinkling his nose in disgust and whining. The whole place stank of blood and Darkspawn, filling the floor with a foul reek. Draco coughed and covered his mouth with is left hand, lifting his Family Blade and keeping it trained at the room beyond the atrium. As they advanced, more spawn attacked from all sides. However, these spawn were weaker than those outside and they would have dealt with them quickly, were it not for the Emissary who aided them. The stunted Genlock spellcaster hurled ice and lightning at them, which Wulf spent most of his energy countering. Draco, despite only using a single hand brutally killed his opponents, decapitating one, cutting another in half, impaling a third before lifting his sword in both hands and leapt into the air, using a terrific downwards blow to chop the last Hurlock in two in a massive explosion of gore which painted the nearby wall in red. Alistair took down another two while Lysa focused all her attention on the Emissary. Finally an arrow slipped through the creatures wards and hit it in the eye, shooting clean through its skull and out the back of its hell, dragging metal, blood, bone and brain-matter out on its razor harp tip. "Stubborn bitch," muttered Lysa as Draco hurriedly tore her arrows from the corpse before tossing them to her.

The rest of the floor was easily cleared and, for want of a better term, looted, of everything they could find that might help and quickly stowed on their person or in the large pack borne on Alistair's back. However the first floor was more complicated and required Lysa's sharpshooting skills to deal with ambushers and Emissarys. On the second floor they stopped for a moment to catch their breath, Alistair gripping his knees and gasping, "Wait…wh-what's going on? There-There weren't supposed to be any Darkspawn!"

Lysa leant against the nearest wall and gasped out, "Perhaps you want to tell them in the wrong place?"

"Yeah, sure, this is probably an innocent misunderstanding; we'll laugh about it later," grinned Alistair. Draco groaned and gripped his right wrist. He had been stupid enough to hack downwards in between a Hurlocks neck and collarbone, where the sword had lodged and a Genlock had hit his hand with a mace. He had cut the smaller one down an instant later, opening him up from hip to groin and spilling blood, bone and organs everywhere. His hand and wrist ached and he found it hard to perform any of the more complicated movements, instead he was now forced to rely more heavily on the more simple and yet still lethal blows. Wulf now had three more cuts across his chest and Alistair had a broken rib and dislocated thumb. Lysa had gained a broad but shallow cut across her chest and naturally had refused to allow it be tended. Rutger however was the most badly damaged. He had constantly thrown himself in the way of blows to save the others and now bore a pronounced limp, a bloody flank and only a single ear, and through the gashes in his side, the faint white of bone could be seen. He whined piteously whenever he moved and Lysa had taken to rubbing his damaged head to comfort him. Draco's berserker rage had been fuelled by the injuries dealt to his faithful hound and he stood nearby, guarding his dear friend. Alistair shrugged and hafted his sword, wincing as he moved his dislocated thumb across the hilt. "At any rate, we've got to hurry," he said. Wulf raised his staff and they limped onward.

_The Top Floor_

After many gruelling battles during which their endurance and skill had been tested to the limit, and they had left nothing but bloodied and ruined corpses in their wake the blood spattered and weary companions finally arrived on the top floor. "At last," laughed Alistair, with a hint of hysteria, "The top! Look there! There's the-"

The sound of flesh being sucked off the bone drew their eyes to the centre of the room. There, in the midst of a pile of bones three feet high, surrounded by a lake of blood and offal, knelt a grotesque behemoth. It was at least twelve, thirteen, no fifteen feet high, with sickly purple skin, pulled across giant muscles and huge bones. Its hands where large enough to crush a man's torso in its fist, its fingers ending in long wicked claws, hooked and filthy. Its head was vast and ape-like with two eyes shining like blood deep in its skull above a skull like nose and mouth filled with serrated teeth. Horns twisted from its head and jutted out like swords. Around its waist was a loincloth of skin and hide roughly sewn together. Its gnarled legs were thick as tree trunks, ending in human like feet, bearing talons as dangerous as its claws. It suddenly noticed them, its brow furrowing as it let the broken and mangled limb fall from its grasp. It pushed itself to its feet and let out a bellowing roar.

Draco lifted his sword diagonally and spat out two words, "Fucking ogre."

The creature snarled and hurled itself forward, moving faster than its bulk would suggest. As one they dived aside as it neared them, its hooked and crooked fingers scratching armour and whistling through the air as it passed. It smashed into the wall, where its horns lodged. "WULF! CHARGE A BLAST!" screamed Lysa at the top of her lungs, notching two arrows to the string at once and firing them at the brutes head. The soft murmur of Wulf's voice filled the room, telling her that he was doing his job. She let her arrows fly, and watched them hit the creatures skull, however both were knocked aside by the giants heaving back as it tugged at the wall. Lightning flashed outside the windows, illuminating Draco and Alistair's swords as they rushed forward, each swinging at the brutes sides and midriff, while Rutger busied himself ripping at its leg. With a roar the creature tore itself from the wall, swatting away the two Wardens with its balled fist. To Draco it was like being hit with a maul and he spun through the air crashing into a wall where he fell to the floor, bloodied and wheezing. Alistair meanwhile landed near Wulf. The ogre's break for freedom had demolished the wall it had been lodged in, revealing the stormy sky; lightning flashed and flickered, rain pelted from the heavens and the sound of war and slaughter. The great giant roared again and lifted both its fists to the ceiling, tugging a large rock from the ruined stone. Lysa instantly knew what it would do. Knowing it to be useless, she raised her bow and fired a single arrow, straight at the brutes eye. To her amazement it connected, plunging into the socket and lodging there. She let out a whoop of victory and they all breathed a sigh of relief. Then the creature looked at her. Its lip curled.

"Shit," she muttered as the boulder arced towards her.

But the bone breaking blow never came. Lysa was saved by Alistair. He dove at her and knocked her away, dragging both of them from the stones path, which smashed into the floor and shot down into the floor beneath and out the wall. Lysa nodded her thanks dazedly and they both scrambled to their feet. At a sudden yelp they turned, and Lysa screamed "RUTGER!" The brave mabari had been hanging onto the beasts leg, chewing through the hard flesh and into the muscle beneath. Until then, the ogre had been focused on dealing with them, but now that they seemed to be dealt with it turned its attention to the hound. It grabbed him and squeezed. The sound of breaking bones echoed out and Rutger let out a soft whine. Lysa and Alistair screamed as the hound flew through the air to land by Draco. Wulf groaned and murmured his hands tracing the arcane symbols in midair, leaving glowing after-images of white and grey. The ogre turned to him and rushed towards the mage, reaching out with its left hand, aiming to crush the life from Wulf. Lysa nocked another arrow and sent it into the forearm, causing the muscles to spasm and the creature to howl in pain. Once again distracted it turned to her, skidding to a halt and changing direction. Alistair met it halfway, his sword sinking into its thigh while it gouged his shield nearly cutting it in two. Bellowing, it struck his head and knocked him down and grabbed her. Her useless bow fell to the ground as she was lifted into the air by the massive hand. She struggled to free herself, screaming in rage and pain, kicking at the things wrist and trying to prize its fingers apart in a desperate attempt to free herself, but she might as well as attempted to pull apart steel for all the good it did her. Suddenly the ogre squeezed. Her arms went limp and she gasped as she felt the leather armour give way. The breath was being forced from her as her ribcage bent inwards, crushing her lungs. Blood ran from her lips and slid down her chin in great rivulets, as tears of pain and grief fell from her eyes. She could feel the claws piercing her side, driving through the flesh and towards her stomach and womb. Feeling cold, she closed her eyes.

Immediately she felt a sudden heat. The beast roared and loosened its grip. Shocked, she opened her eyes. From Wulf's hand erupted a steady stream of fire, glowing red and gold, smothering the ogre's back, causing a disgusting stench to rise from the roasting flesh. The ogre screamed, a terrible high-pitched sound which shook the teeth in Lysa's head, and dropped her to the floor. She landed with a soft thump, watching the scene with mild interest, as if at a play in the Alienage. The creature turned and received the fire full in its face. Screaming, it turned about once more and grabbed her again. Then it recoiled. She watched in mild surprise as it cradled a bleeding stump of an arm. Draco stood there, bathed in white light from the crashing lightning and smothered with blood. He gripped his sword tightly in his right hand, all pain seemingly forgotten. His eyes burned with anger.

'Berserker Rage,' though Lysa, the stupor slowly lifting from her mind as the pain lessened somewhat, 'Seeing us hurt must have pissed him off no end.'

Draco roared, spittle flying from his mouth, rushing forward, swinging his sword in both hands. It sunk into the brutes right thigh, cleaving through the limb and into the bone and out again, the flaming blade making short work of the iron hard skin. The creature screamed and toppled to the side. Draco roared again and hurled himself into the air, swinging the sword down in a terrific blow, illuminated by the flashing lightning. For a brief instant all was still as the white lightning blocked out all other light, and shrouding them in darkness. Then the sword fell. The huge horned head spun in the air, riding on a tidal wave of iridescent blood. Draco landed nimbly and turned to watch the creature fall. He sighed and toppled silently to his knees leaning on his sword, breathing heavily. The fires died out and Wulf leant against the wall, blood trickling from his lips. The fires on the corpse sputtered for a few more moments, then faded into smoke, leaving a charred and blackened corpse behind.

"The…(_cough_) beacon," said Alistair standing and staggering towards the kindling, grabbing a torch from a sconce in the wall. He shoved it into the wood, which burst alight instantly. Draco stood and walked back to Lysa heaving her up. She could see there were tears in his eyes. "Draco, I'm sorry," she whispered, as he guided her over to the hole in the wall. He didn't reply, but gently set her down and walked over to Rutger. He knelt and stroked the hounds head, tears streaking through his grime covered face. The hound woofed in appreciation. Draco laughed happily and embraced the mabari, "He's alive!" he cried joyously.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Wulf and Alistair let out a whoop of victory.

Lysa suddenly shrieked in horror. They all turned to her, the joy replaced by fear.

"Look!" she cried pointing. They hurried over to the damaged wall and looked out.

Duncan cut down another of the spawn and turned around searching for the King. They had been separated by the swarm of foes, and Duncan feared for the brash monarch's safety. He turned and saw him cutting a swathe through the spawn with his greatsword. He sprinted through the melee, decapitating an Emissary quickly before saving the King from a backstab which would have surely ended his life. Cailan nodded his thanks then, sparring an Alpha called out, "Duncan! Can you see the beacon?"

Duncan dispatched his latest foe and looked up at the tower. He saw a huge rent in the side of the top floor, and could glimpse the sheen of armour and a flash of fire. Just then, the pinnacle of the tower erupted in red and orange flames.

"They've done it," he cried and returned to the fray, confidant that the Teyrn would soon rush from cover and deal the final blow to the horde. He could feel the Archdemon nearby, and was quietly confident that perhaps, the King had been right; the Blight would end, here and now.

Ser Cautherin, looked at the Tower of Ishal from the eastern flank, watching the fires erupt. One of the soldiers from the Tower had appeared and told them of it falling to the Darkspawn, but now it was clear that the Wardens had done their duty. She quietly murmured a pray of thanks to the Maker and asked Him to protect those brave warriors until the battle was done. She tilted her head to watch her Teyrn, awaiting his command to attack. He was silent though, and still as if he was a statue. His arms were folded over his chest. She had never seen him like this; he was always so calm, passionate and clever, now he was despondent, dumb and meek. Finally he spoke, and she started at his words. "Sound…the retreat."

She blinked in surprise, her heart beating at twice its normal speed, staring at him in shock. "But, your Grace the King-"

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, his eyes cod and empty as he spoke, "Do as I command."

She wrenched her hand away, feeling shocked at how she responded to his movements. He stared at her oddly, making her scalp prickle and the hairs along her neck rise. She nodded, and turned, bellowing, "Men, move out!"

As they marched away, she looked down at the ground despondently; she knew that the Teyrn had a good reason for the retreat. It was probably part of a plan he had made with the King. But now she took a moment to think, the sound of battle was much quieter now. The King and the army must have fallen or fled; the Wardens, brave though they had been, hadn't been in time, and were probably dead. Loghain knew he had to retreat to hold off the horde later. 'I mean', she thought, looking up at Loghain at the head of the column, 'He wouldn't abandon the King and the army to face certain death. Right?'

Duncan hacked down another Genlock Alpha and looked about him searching for the wyvern banner of Gwarren to advance from the east. But it still hadn't come. It was five minutes since the beacon went up. Surely the Teyrn should have been here by now? Then it hit him. They had been _betrayed_!

Duncan turned and grabbed the King's shoulder, tugging him away from the fight. "Sound the retreat, Cailan!" he cried over the din of the battle. "The Teyrn isn't coming!"

"What?" yelled Cailan, struggling to break free, "Why wouldn't he come?"

Duncan opened his mouth to speak when a fist the size of a dwarf anvil collided with his chest. He arced through the air before landing painfully on his wounded side. Pushing himself to his hands and knees he felt his blood chill. An ogre was gripping the king in the air, watching the struggling man with a curious expression. Then, roaring, spittle striking the king full in the face, it crushed him.

There was the sound of metal imploding and bones shattering. The King jerked once, then was still.

The ogre threw the King aside and bellowed at the sky. Duncan heard a faraway cry in response- no, he _felt_ it. The Archdemon. Knowing that it was all over gave a macabre strength to him, as if the Maker was giving him one last chance. Gripping his weapons tightly, he sprinted forwards, a blur of movement that was barely perceptible to mortal eyesight. The ogre turned to meet him, but never touched his prey. Sword and dagger sunk into the chest, piercing both lungs. The ogre roared in pain and surprise. Gritting his teeth, Duncan drew the blades out again and stabbed once more, again and again, until the juggernaut fell, crushing two Genlocks beneath it. Duncan knelt on his last kill for a moment, then, feeling the strength leave him, crawled away, and gripping his broken and bleeding side, knelt by the King.

'I'm sorry, Maric', he though dully placing his hands on the Kings body, 'I've failed you, friend'.

He looked up at the Tower of Ishal, where the fire burned away, like a lighthouse, guiding lost ships home. Perhaps it was the Maker, he thought oddly, guiding their souls to Him? He knew that the Wardens atop the Tower would survive. She would see to that. He knew she would. She had promised. Perhaps he could sleep now?

"Yes," he said, a sense of peace filling him as a Hurlock General stalked towards him, axe raised in both hands. "Yes…I think…some sleep…would do me some good now, I think."

Draco stared in horror as the swarm of Darkspawn overran the King and Duncan. "No, no, no, no!" he whispered, gripping his sword tightly. This couldn't be happening! This couldn't be-

He heard them racing up the stairs but didn't turn. 'Why bother? We're all doomed anyway.'

Would Duncan think that?

Snarling, he hefted his sword and spun to meet them, shrieking with rage as he hacked at them, cutting hands, arms, heads off with wild blows venting his rage before a mace hit his head and fell like a stone.

Lysa shot arrow after arrow into the Darkspawn, tears clouding her eyes. She would go down fighting like one possessed, felling a foe with each shot. Then three archers began to fire at her, their arrows slicing through the air. One hit her leg, another her side and the third her shoulder. Buckling down she slammed the wall against her temple, she hit her head on hard rock and knew no more.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER Four: New Companions**

**Lysa**

When she opened her eyes, Lysa wondered if she really had, for it was just as dark as with them shut. 'Is this what death is?' she thought, thinking back to what the Priestess had said at every Chant. 'I had hoped it would be brighter.' Still, it was comfortable, wherever she was. She felt as if she was lying on a soft feather bed, covered in a thick quilt. She felt her chest ache in protest as he moved about a bit. It still ached from that blow the Hurlock had given her on the first floor of the Tower-

She sat bolt upright as the memories of the battle returned. Even as she did so, it seemed as if a blindfold fell from her eyes, quite literally. She looked around in surprise. She was in a hut, or so it seemed, made of wood and stone, with fur pelts hanging on the halls and over the floor. She was sitting in a large bed and was stark naked. She hurriedly covered her chest with the blanket and turned towards a dark shape in the corner by the door. Suddenly the shape moved and she saw it was a woman. She felt her moth go dry as she watched her pale beauty. A pair of golden eyes looked out of a hard, haughty face, which nonetheless was soft and shapely, holding a brilliant beauty. She had hair pinned up with feathers of many dark colours. She wore a loose robe that revealed a great deal of her torso, which sent a shiver of appreciation running down Lysa's spine.

"Ahh, you're awake," said the woman standing beside her. "How do you feel?" she sounded calm and proud and cold.

"I'm…sore," said Lysa grimacing and rubbing her shoulder, "But I'm alright. Where am I? Who are you?"

"I am Morrigan; you are in the hut belonging to my mother and myself, on the edges of the Korcari Wilds, and your companions are outside," said Morrigan with a shrug. "You and the glum one, Draco were badly injured on top of the Tower. My mother rescued you in the form of a giant bird and brought you back here. However, the mage you were with is dead and currently acting as a light meal for the spawn. The flea-bitten hound is here too." She added the last part almost as an afterthought. Lysa slowly let it all sink in. She grieved quietly for Wulf, who had seemed a good man. It was obvious that Morrigan and her mother were apostates, living outside the Chantry. Though why they were helping them wasn't entirely obvious. Some of what she had been thinking must have shown on her face for Morrigan snorted and spoke again; "Your friends came here just over two months ago, searching for Darkspawn blood for the Joining. They came with two others, a knight and a cutpurse, who if I am correct died in the Joining that Draco partook in. 'Tis a shame, really," she finished sarcastically before folding her arms and staring at her. "They also came here looking for the old treaties of the Warden's; ancient documents which mean that the Dalish, Dwarves and Magi have to help them."

"What of the army?" asked Lysa quietly, though she already knew the answer but dreading confirmation.

"Slaughtered," replied Morrigan calmly. "The man who was to have answered your signal turned tail and fled. Those he abandoned were massacred. Your friends…have not taken it well."

Lysa felt light-headed and strangely detached, almost like she was hearing about a story from the Elder, something from legend. Something that didn't really happen.

"That's…that's terrible," she whispered letting her arms fall limp, not caring about her modesty. A hundred thousand…dead. "Were there no survivors?" she asked desperately, pleadingly gazing into Morrigan's eyes.

Morrigan shook her head. "Some few thousand escaped I believe," she said, unfolding her arms. "But most died and are being eaten, and what survivors there are being killed…or dragged underground." She didn't have to say any more. Lysa felt she was going to be sick. Morrigan sighed and gestured to her. "None of your wounds are infected. 'Tis a blessing; you have trouble enough awaiting you without the gangrene. However, mother said not to do too much for the next few days; your ribs are fine, but you came perilously near to having your lungs collapsed. She also said for you to go and speak with her outside when you have recovered," she finished pointing towards the door.

"Thank you for your help Morrigan," said Lysa, pushing herself out of bed. Morrigan looked as if she had never heard those words before. "I…You're welcome? I will stay and make something to eat. Your clothes and equipment are over there," she said and walked over to a pot hanging over the fire.

Lysa quickly drew on her underwear, wincing as the bra stroked the new scar, before pulling on her leggings and tunic. Then she donned her newly repaired armour, making a mental note to thank Morrigan and her mother for that too, and picked up her daggers and bow and quiver. Glancing back at the pale beauty, she exited the house.

The Wilds lay before her, a mosaic of marshes, forests and hills as far as the eye could see. Birds sang in the trees, animals whispered and called in the undergrowth and the sky shone with the light of a new day. But its beauty was lost on Lysa. As she had donned her armour, she had made a promise; she wouldn't stop till the Archdemon was dead and she would do _anything_ to make sure that happened.

Looking ahead she could see Draco and Alistair by a pool which surrounded the house, bar a small strip of land that linked it to the rest of the Wilds. Draco was sitting on a boulder, jutting from a small incline, his sword drawn, the point resting on the stone and his left arm draped over the crossguard. Alistair stood at the water's edge, his arms folded and his head lowered. Beside them was a lean, yet hale woman with long white hair and brilliant golden eyes, dressed in spiked and horned armour, with the torso covered in purple lacquer. Rutger however was far more animated. His great head was battered and scarred, and his ear was still missing, but the huge gap in his side was gone and he ran towards her, barking and yapping like a puppy. She smiled thinly and rubbed his broad head, causing him to yap with glee. The woman turned her head imperiously and grinned widely. "See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden, young men. You need not have been so worried so much." Draco and Alistair looked over at her and both relaxed immensely, though they didn't smile. Lysa understood why. Draco leapt from his rock and brusquely embraced her. She was so shocked she didn't have time to react before he had stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"You…You're alive," said Alistair quietly. She could tell he had been crying. His eyes were red, his nostrils flared and his hands shaky. He laughed and said "I thought you were dead for sure! You were even more badly hurt than Draco."

"That is because the legendary thick skulls of the Cousland's protected him," said Morrigan's mother mildly. Draco turned to her and frowned before snarling darkly.

Lysa frowned at that but turned back to Alistair. "I would be dead, were it not for Morrigan's mother."

Alistair nodded, shakily and his voice dropped even further as he spoke, a few fresh tears coursing down his face. "Duncan, the King…everyone dead. It doesn't seem real. If it weren't for Morrigan's mother, we'd be dead on top of that tower."

"Do not talk about me as if I were not present lad," reprimanded the witch mildly, with a small smirk.

"Sorry," apologised Alistair turning to face her. "I didn't mean…But what do we call you? You never told us your name? And you look…different now."

The apostate chuckled deeply and spread her hands. "The form you saw before is a mask, designed to lull my prey, or inquisitive busybodies, into a false sense of security; this is my real form. Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind call me Flemeth. I suppose it will do."

At once Draco started and his hand reached above his shoulder and gripped his Family sword pulling it out and staring at the pommel.

"_The _Flemeth? From the legends? Daveth was right-you're a Witch of the Wilds aren't you?"

Flemeth boomed with laughter and nodded, gently taking the sword from Draco's hand and stroking its edge, the grating of metal against metal high-pitched and echoing out over the moors. "What does it matter?" she said lifting the sword up and examining it minutely. "I know a bit of magic and it has served you well has it not?"

She smiled at the blade and handed it back to Draco. "Ask the Cousland lad. Had I not used magic to kill Bann Conobar, then his Captain of the Guard, Captain Sarim Cousland would never have gained the teyrnir. And this boy most certainly, wouldn't be here to help you," she finished, clapping Draco's shoulder.

"_You're _the son of Bryce Cousland?" asked Lysa in awe, staring at Draco. "Why didn't you say earlier…m'lord?" she asked. Draco stiffened at the honorific and said gently, "Arl Howe butchered my whole family in our castle and took the lands for himself. Duncan helped me escape along with… my sister in law. In exchange I took up the mantle of a Grey Warden," his voice turned dark and distant, as if remembering the attack. "My mother stayed behind to die with my father, who had been mortally wounded in the attack. I kept my identity a secret with Duncan and the King so that Howe would get complacent. Sorry for not telling you," he added sadly.

There was silence for a moment, then; "Howe and his men weren't at the battle," Lysa murmured, looking towards Ostagar in the far distance.

Draco slowly nodded and then stiffened. "He was good friends with Loghain," he said, clenching his fist. "And Loghain…"

Flemeth looked at the three of them with a new respect. "Hmm. A conspiracy?" she said. "It wouldn't be the first time in the last six hundred odd years."

Alistair clenched his teeth and breathed heavily.

"Why did you save us?" asked Draco suddenly, turning back to Flemeth.

Flemeth chuckled, "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Warden's dying at once, can we?" She turned and walked the water edge, watching a small cloud of smoke rising from the west. "Someone must deal with the Darkspawn. It has always been the duty of the Grey Warden's to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

"The land is hardly united, thanks to Loghain," said Lysa, jabbing a finger to the east, towards Gwaren. Flemeth turned back to them and nodded with a snort of agreement.

"That doesn't make any sense," said Alistair angrily, "Why would he do it?"

"Now _that _is a good question," said Flemeth sadly, her face more kind, "Men's hearts hold shadows more dark than any twisted creature."

She shrugged, "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an enemy he can outmanoeuvre. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon" stated Alistair with finality.

"What exactly is it?" asked Lysa. She hated to seem like an idiot, but it had rarely been discussed around her.

Flemeth surprised her by being the one to answer; "It is said that long ago the Make sent the Old Gods of the ancient Tevinter Imperium to slumber in prisons deep beneath the surface. An Archdemon is an Old God awakened and tainted by Darkspawn. Believe that or not, history says that it is a fearsome, immortal thing. And only fools ignore history."

They were silent as they absorbed this information, before Draco turned back to Flemeth and asked, "Will you help us stop the Blight Flemeth?" Alistair and Lysa looked up hopefully.

"Me? I am just an old woman who lives in the Wilds," she said kindly, walking around them and waving her arms at the Wilds. "I know nothing of Blights or Darkspawn."

Alistair rubbed his head and spoke, "Well, whatever Loghain's insanity, he obviously thinks the Darkspawn are a minor threat. We must warn everyone this isn't the case."

"And who will believe you?" scoffed Flemeth, "Unless you think to convince Loghain of his mistake."

"He just betrayed his King!" exclaimed Alistair, outraged at Flemeth's coldness. "If Arl Eamon knew what he did at Ostagar, he would be the first to call for his execution!"

"Ha!" yelled Draco, startling everyone, except Flemeth, and he was grinning savagely making gestures with his hands as he spoke, "And that's the first sensible idea I've heard in the last twenty four hours! Arl Eamon didn't send his men to battle here, so he still has a sizeable force, maybe a few thousand strong due to the Banns and Freeholders that owe him allegiance. And he was Cailan's uncle."

"Of course," yelled Alistair nodding and looking more confident, "We can head to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

Lysa nodded strength and conviction returning to her limbs as they spoke. 'There is still hope,' she thought. "What about those treaties Morrigan mentioned?" she asked, suddenly remembering them.

"The Treaties! I'm an idiot for not remembering them sooner," he exclaimed digging around in his pack before pulling out three scrolls contained in silverite cylinders with the seal of the Warden's stamped on them. "We can use these," he whispered in awe, holding the treaties like holy relics. "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, mages, elves and others! They are obligated to help us during a Blight!"

Flemeth burst into laughter clapping her hands and smirking. "I may be old, but dwarves, elves, mages and this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else…this sounds like an army to me."

"So can we do this? Go to Redcliffe and these other places and…build an army?"

Draco nodded and thumped the Warden crest on his armour, "Isn't that what the Grey Wardens do?"

"Though I doubt it will be that easy," said Lysa, smirking and tightening the straps of her armour in preparation of the long treks ahead.

"Hahahahahaha, when is it ever?" laughed Flemeth, nodding.

Alistair nodded and stowed the scrolls. "It's always been the Grey Wardens who have stood against the Blight. And right now, we're the Grey Wardens."

Flemeth sat down on the boulder vacated by Draco and folded her hands in her lap. "So you are set then? Ready to become Grey Wardens?" she spread her hands and seemed for a moment to imitate the statues of Andraste in the Chantry of Denerim.

"Yes," said Draco Standing forward and sheathing his sword again. He turned and bowed to Flemeth, as did Lysa. "Thank you for everything, Flemeth."

"No, no, thank_ you_; you are the Grey Wardens here, not I," said Flemeth, waving their thanks aside.

"Now," she said leaning back against the grassy knoll behind her, and grinning at the hut as the door opened, "Before you go, there is one more thing I can offer you."

**Draco**

Draco folded his arms and watched Morrigan approach. He had a sneaky suspicion that he knew what Flemeth was about to offer them. He didn't care what the others thought, he would bring her along. He clenched his teeth and grinned darkly. Things were about to get a whole lot more interesting. Morrigan stood before them and glanced at them before turning to her mother.

"The stew is bubbling, mother dear" she said folding her arms. "Shall we have three guests for the 'eve," she continued, turning and glaring at them, "Or none?"

Draco glanced at Flememth, ignoring the insult, awaiting the words that would surely follow. Sure enough…

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And _you _will be joining them."

"Such a shame-" Morrigan started, then her eyes widened and she rounded on her mother in a split second. "_What?_"

"You heard me girl," said Flemeth standing up from the rock and grinning like a demon. "The last time I looked you had ears," she laughed before walking towards the hut. Morrigan glanced between Flemeth and the Wardens before running after her mother, her skirt billowing out behind her.

"Mother what possesses you to say these things?" she hissed as Flemeth opened the door and came out again bearing a large map in her hands and walked back to the Wardens, Morrigan hurrying after her.

"I think it's an excellent idea," aid Draco, smirking and taking the map. Alistair and Lysa looked at him almost as if he had grown a second head.

Morrigan spluttered and glared venomously at them. "Have I no say in this?" she yelled, jabbing a finger at her mother.

Flemeth turned back to her and smiled faintly. "You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years; here is your chance." She turned back to the Wardens and her face shifted into a scowl, gazing hypnotically into their eyes. "As for you Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

Draco nodded and saw the shifts in stances of Lysa; she accepted this deal. They had little choice and they needed all the help they could find.

"Very well," said Draco, bowing, "We will do as you ask." Lysa nodded in agreement.

Alistair tapped him on the shoulder and leant forward to whisper, loudly, in his ear. "Not to look a gift horse in the mouth…but won't this _add_ to our problems? Outside of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Draco and Lysa huffed quietly at his naivety and Flemeth scoffed and replied, "If you do not wish help from us illegal mages young man, perhaps I should have left you atop that tower?"

Alistair gulped and muttered, "Point…taken."

"Mother," implored Morrigan, worry evident in her voice, despite the stoic façade on her face. "This is not how I wanted this. I-I'm not even ready."

The Witch turned to her daughter and stroked her cheek gently, startling the Wardens with this gesture of love. "You must be ready Morrigan; alone these four Wardens must unite Fereldan against the darkspawn. They need you Morrigan. Without you they will surely fail and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Draco saw Alistair stiffen at the words, but he wasn't offended. None of them had even a year's worth of experience as a Warden and they would need magic to help them.

"I…understand," murmured Morrigan stiffly, surrendering.

Flemeth turned to them and her voice hardened and her eyes narrowed. "And you Grey Wardens, do you understand. I give to you that which I value most in this world," she gestured to Morrigan and concluded, "I do this because you _must _succeed."

Draco nodded and Lysa said, "She won't come to harm with us." Flemeth nodded in satisfaction, while Morrigan gave them a withering look.

"Allow me to get my things, if you please," she sighed and marched back to the hut.

Draco felt Alistair glaring daggers at his back. He ignored the Templar and shrugged his shoulders and ground his teeth. The man would have to get used to the way he worked.

Morrigan came out a few minutes later, a satchel dangling at her side and a small pack on her back. Her staff was festooned with totems and fetishes and glowed dully in the sunlight. Draco felt an electric pulse racing through the air as she approached. Doubtless, this staff was one of the strongest in Fereldan, if her mother was Flemeth. Sure enough as she stopped before him, he saw the dull red and black of a dragonbone staff. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. This was real magic; untamed and true.

"I am at your disposal," she said, gripping her staff and leaning nonchalantly upon it her lips quirked upwards at the corners in a sarcastic smile, "Grey Wardens. There is a village to the north, a few days march from here, which I suggest as our destination. It has much of what you need there. Or if you prefer, I can merely be your silent guide, the choice is yours." The last bit dripped with so much sarcasm that Draco wanted to burst out laughing and the expression on Alistairs face was priceless; he looked like he was going to say that she looked like she would be as silent as a Chantry mother.

"We would rather you spoke your mind," said Lysa, smiling and glancing at Alistair who was looking more befuddled by the minute.

Flemeth let lose a great booming chuckle. "You will regret saying that soon enough!"

Morrigan turned and glared at her mother, grinding her teeth. "Dear sweet mother," she said, her voice pulsating with sarcasm and venom, "You are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

Flemeth laughed and shrugged. "I always said 'If you want something done, do it yourself', or hear about it for a decade or two afterwards."

Alistair coughed impolitely and waved a hand at the two apostates, "I just…Do you really want to take her along just because her mother says so?"

"Oh, get over yourself, Alistair," grunted Draco.

Lysa sighed and said placating, "We need all the help we can get Alistair."

Alistair grunted and rubbed the back of his head. "I suppose you're right. The Grey Wardens have always taken allies where they could find them."

Morrigan grinned broadly. "I am so pleased to have your approval."

Draco smirked darkly. "May I ask a question?" asked Lysa.

Morrigan shrugged. "You just did, but I may answer others."

Lysa nodded and waved at the staff. "What skills do you have?"

Morrigan smirked alarmingly. It made her look like a Hurlock. "I now some spells, though I am not as powerful as mother. I have also studied history and your Grey Warden treaties."

"Can you cook?" asked Alistair brightly. Draco let out a long-suffering sigh.

"I…can…cook, yes," Morrigan replied, looking at Alistair as if he was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"Never mind him," said Lysa, glaring daggers at Alistair, "You don't have to cook."

"You missed your chance; you're now stuck with charred rabbit from here on out."

Draco pinned Alistair under one of the most withering gazes in history. "If you're that worried I'll cook."

"Oh joy," muttered Alistair glancing at Morrigan and Lysa. "The psychotic Berserker has taken over cooking duties. Five sovereigns we'll end up eating orphans."

"Or you." The tone in Draco's voice could have butchered a legion of Darkspawn.

"Now there's an idea," muttered Morrigan in approval. Alistair looked like Draco had really just served him a child roasted with apple sauce.

Draco grinned. It was a wide rictus, filled with teeth that suddenly seemed to have been filed into razor points. He turned and bowed one last time to Flemeth, before whistling at Rutger. The hound barked and ran over to him and began to lick his gauntleted hand.

"Thank you Flemeth," said Lysa with an incline of the head.

"Farewell, mother," Morrigan turned to Flemeth and smirked, "Do not forget the stew on the fire; I would _hate _to return to a burned out hut."

Flemeth scoffed. "'Tis far more likely you will return here, to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight!"

The Wardens were once again surprised by how Morrigan responded. Her lips quivered, her eyes lowered and she whispered, "I…all I meant was…"

Flemeth smiled kindly, "Yes, I know. Do try to have fun dear."

Without another word she turned and walked into the hut. Hefting their packs, the four companions hiked into the Wilds, the mabari striding beside them. Morrigan looked back once and sighed. Then the forest swallowed them.

_Denerim_

Anora gazed intently at her father's back, carefully watching his every move. He had arrived back in Denerim the day before yesterday with his entire contingent of twenty thousand men. However, upon his arrival, rather than the good news everyone had hoped for he had brought news that had caused panic to run like a plague through the city. She had been confined to her rooms by a healer due to the shock of it; she had broken down in hysterics and had become completely incoherent. Her father had asked her to come with him to the meeting in the Throne Hall, despite the fact that anyone who looked at her could see the glazed stare and hear the distance in her voice.

She dragged herself back from the brink in time to hear her father's next words, "…And I expect you to supply these men. We must rebuild what was lost at Ostagar and quickly. There are those who would take advantage of our weakened state I we let them." Something in his voice suddenly struck at Anora; hate, a hate generally reserved for the…Orlesians. Her gaze sharpened on his back. Was he so paranoid still?

"We must defeat this darkspawn incursion, but we must do sensibly, and without hesitation." Once again, Anora felt a twinge of doubt. Her father talked of the advancing horde as if it was a minor threat. However, she had spoken to Duncan when he had held a meeting with Cailan and her father. The way he spoke, the way his eyes were veiled by shadow…and why then, the need for Wardens? She had heard that the youngest Cousland, Draco, had been recruited not long after the fall of Castle Cousland. Not only that, but her husband's brother, Alistair, and a skilled elven rogue from the Alienage in Denerim. Why would he recruit so many young people if it wasn't a true Blight? However, the thing she had most trouble with was her father's claim that the Warden's had betrayed Cailan for…What?

"Your lordship, may I speak?" She turned back to see Bann Teagan stepping forward from the crowd of nobles. He was wearing heavy veridium armour and bearing arms ready for battle. It was common knowledge that Teagan and her father had never gotten on well, so it was surprising that he was speaking so politely.

Loghain raised a hand in approval and Teagan folded his arms, his dark eyes staring hard at Loghain.

"You have declared yourself Queen Anora's Regent, and claim that we must unite under your banner for our own good." He unfolded his arms, and his voice took on a hard brittle quality. "But what of the army lost at Ostagar? Your withdrawal seems most…_fortuitous_."

Shocked and scandalised gasps filled the hall, the nobles stunned at Teagan's blatant disregard of Loghain. Loghain's eyes hardened and he stepped forward and slammed his fist against the wooden railing. "_Everything _I have done has been to secure Fereldan's independence. I have not shirked my duty to the Throne," he drew himself up, and pointed a gauntleted finger around the hall, lingering on everyone, accusing them. "_And neither will any of you_!"

"What of the Grey Wardens?" called out Arl Bryland. The accusations against the Grey Wardens had deeply rankled him, especially as he had a nephew among their ranks at Ostagar. Anora glanced at her father again and was troubled by the odd look in his eyes. "You say they betrayed the King. Maybe they did, maybe they didn't. But if it is true, do you seriously expect me to believe that all of them were? My nephew and the Cousland lad, traitors? Impossible!" Bryland jabbed a finger at several other nobles. "We all have a forefather, or a loved one in the order. Do you mean to tell me that they all betrayed the King, and so soon after their return?"

Loghain folded his arms and nodded his head. "I do not claim they all turned their back, but enough of them; enough to kill your King! And now you complain because I ask for your aid!"

"The Bannorn will not bow to you simply because you demand it!" spat Teagan. Murmurs were turning to cries of alarm.

"Understand this, _Bann _Teagan," hissed Loghain, his voice as dark as a thunderstorm. "I will brook _no_ threat to this nation. From _you_ or _anyone_." His gauntleted finger lingered on Teagan last of all. Loghain stormed out, his long white cloak billowing out behind him like a spectral mist. Ser Cauthrien and another guard marched after him. The nobles, free from Loghains dark gaze spoke freely now, murmuring for and against Loghain; they split into groups and began to mutter this way and that, some openly muttering that Loghain was mad, others that they needed Loghain's brilliance for victory. The pro-Warden faction however were all leaving without another word, and among them Anora spied Bann Teagan.

"Bann Teagan!" she cried out. No-one took the high pitched voice amiss, but Teagan stopped and turned back. "Please…" she implored.

"Your Majesty, your father risks civil war," he said, gesturing after Loghain. "If Eamon were here…"

Anora didn't respond for a moment. She felt a dark fear unfurling and settling in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes to hide the despair, then opening them, pulled her face back into the mask of the Queen. "My father is doing what is best."

Teagan turned away and called back as he stalked off, "Did he also do what was best for your husband, Your Majesty?"

Anora stood a still as a statue. She stayed still until no-one was left in the hall a full ten minutes later. Then, a single tear crawled down her face.

_The Imperial Highway_

Lysa tried counting every tree they passed. Morrigan tried shutting him up. Alistair tried telling jokes. Draco sang in the Theden'gamote. It wasn't that he was a bad singer, and the language sounded pleasant, like a whisper in the trees, or a "screaming templar" as Morrigan had said. Alistair had glared at her at that and had sidled over to Draco's other side. But Rutger still whined and yapped. "'Tis a miracle," ground out Morrigan through clenched teeth, "that there are no spawn to here this infernal racket."

Draco sighed and carried on singing, "Le'den gur, thoren mur das gerteld morr vass Mendethíl-"

(TRANSLATION: _Calm thy crying child, the wind is in the east_)

"Is it mating season?" asked Alistair.

Morrigan sent him a withering gaze. "I am certain that the hound would turn you down; even he has better taste than to rut with you."

Draco stopped singing and smiled while Lysa laughed. Alistair garbled for a moment then said, trying to stop himself from tripping over his tongue, "If it's mating season then he's naturally…_ pent up_."

Draco paused and suddenly began rubbing at his temple. "Alistair, do you feel…?"

Alsiatir stopped and looked about him, suddenly drawing his sword. "Maybe."

Lysa felt a sudden coldness up ahead. It felt like what she had felt during Ostagar, atop the bridge.

"Oh, what now," asked the witch snidely, raising her staff. "I am on tenterhooks. Do pray tell."

"Spawn," muttered Lysa, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow to the string and dropping to one knee.

There came a rustling from the leaves on the east side of the path. Lysa followed the movement with her eyes, drawing back the arrow, ready to shoot when-

A lithe, thin mabari bitch leapt from the bushes. Her fur was ashen grey and she had traces of red kaddis on her head and flanks, shaped to follow her bones. She looked at them with bright eyes and trotted to Lysa. Draco pursed his lips, and then looked at Rutger. "Don't even think about it."

Rutger barked innocently. Lysa wet her lips and lowered her bow. She reached out tentatively towards the hounds head and slowly stroked the broad head. She yipped in pleasure and liked her hand. Lysa giggled and turned back to Draco and Alistair. "She must be what you sensed; she must have escaped the battle; I think she's one of the hounds we rescued from the tower."

Morrigan looked at the dog with an odd respect. "So she escaped the spawn and traipsed all the way here from Ostagar? A most stubborn bitch. That was meant affectionately you mongrel," she spat at the hound in question as she snarled at her. "Still she might be useful."

Draco coughed politely. "We have company."

They looked ahead. A good dozen Hurlocks blocked the path.

Instantly, the hounds charged forward, dragging down two spawn in moments. Draco and Alistair rushed forward and engaged one apiece; Alistair braining his opponent with his shield and Draco disarming his opponent (_literally_) before chopping it in two. Lysa shot the Alpha down, piercing its lung, while Morrigan stood still. Casually, the witch raised her staff and murmured a few words, her staff and hands glowing a deep, earthy green. From the earth under the feet of the Darkspawn sprung dozens of thorny roots, each a few inches wide. They rose from the grass and dirt, before wrapping around the creatures, pinning them in place. Morrigan laughed sadistically and clenched her left fist. The roots suddenly clenched and the creatures were crushed in the roots, blood and organs exploding everywhere. The Wardens stared at Morrigan in awe. "That was _fucking _awesome," exclaimed Draco, Lysa nodding enthusiastically. "But unnecessarily gruesome," added Alistair, staring at the corpses.

Morrigan smirked and looked at the hounds. "The grey must have been running from them. Smart dog; she found us."

The bitch yelped happily and wagged her tail.

"The darkspawn didn't hurt you did they?" asked Lysa, rubbing the grey's head. She yelped appreciatively and licked her fingers.

"I think she was searching for you," said Alistair rubbing his jaw. "She's…_chosen_ you."

Draco laughed. "Oh, if only a few nobles were here to see this! A mabari imprinting an elf! They'd die of shock!"

"So we have _two _mangydogs following us around? Wonderfull," muttered Morrigan.

"She's not mangy," said Alistair in a childish goo-goo voice.

"Though she does need a bath," said Draco.

"I always wanted a pet," said Lysa, kissing the hound's nose. "I think it's meant to be."

"You have to name her," said Draco smiling down at her.

Lysa thought for a moment. "Dame."

Dame barked in approval.

"I have no reason to object to their presence," said Morrigan glancing at the hounds as they walked on, "But if they start rutting in front of me…"

_Lothering_

Draco rubbed at the week's worth of stubble at his chin as he examined the town from the bridge. It was a small town, maybe a few hundred souls, and in fact was more of a village. However, the large chantry and the gleam of bright steel plate showed the importance of the village. He yawned and looked back at the others. The first thing he would do, he decided as they trudged on, would find a razor and cut of this damn beard. After the ambush where they had found Dame nothing serious had happened. They had managed to slip unmolested past the main bulk of the horde and had met no-one on their journey, heading north or south. It worried him. Suddenly he clapped his hand to his head and groaned. He had forgotten Oriana. Loghain knew who he was and would quickly identify Oriana. He clenched his fist and ground his teeth. He would have to speak to the others about it.

They marched down the road, all silent and engaged in their own thoughts. Alistair walked at the front, gazing at his feet, while Lysa and Morrigan brought up the rear. Draco looked past Alistair, spotting the bridge that led off into Lothering. However, in their way were a dozen or so men dressed in light armour and bearing weapons.

Draco tapped Alistair's shoulder and nodded ahead. Alistair looked up and they came to a halt a few metres from the men. Behind them were several carts and wagons, all thrown on their sides. A few corpses littered the road, with dried pools of blood covering several flagstones. The leader, a lanky fellow with greasy black hair, stepped forward with a smug grin. "Wake up gentlemen; there's more travellers to attend to!"

His lieutenant, a bald man with a rounded face aand watery eyes, looked at the companions, and blanched. "Er, boss…this lot don't look like the others. Uh…Perhaps we oughta let em pass."

"Nonsense," laughed the leader. "Greetings travellers. Please wait here; this is the toll station. Price is ten silvers."

"Highwaymen," muttered Alistair in exasperation.

"Let's just kill them and be done," said Morrigan casually.

"Now, now," said the bandit leader mildly, "No need for any violence. I take it you are the leader," he added, pointing at Draco, "Ten silvers to pass the toll."

Draco sighed and brushed the hair out of his eyes, staring the man straight into his eyes. "You should listen to your friend," he said, "We aren't refugees."

"I told you," said the lieutenant, gazing, fearfully at them. "We should let this lot pass."

"The tax isn't just for refugees, you know" said the leader, smiling at his lieutenant. "Everyone must pay."

"Oh right," said the lieutenant, smiling stupidly at the group again. "You gotta pay it, even if you ain't no refugee."

Lysa stepped forward and hissed, "Take a good look at us; we're Grey Wardens. Still want to fuck with us?"

The highwaymen, suddenly stiffened and grinned. "Grey Wardens, huh," said the leader, nonchalantly stroking his chin. "There's a price on your heads you know? Bad move of yours, betraying the king like that."

Draco, Lysa and Alistair all stiffened in shock. Draco ground his teeth. Loghain. The bastard worked fast, he'd give him that. "So, we take your coin, then your heads, and then we take Loghain's coin," said the leader drawing his axe and dagger. "Well, we might take something else from these pretties first," he added, leering at Morrigan and Lysa.

Draco said nothing, but snapped his fingers, and pointed at the leader. Rutger shot past him like a bolt of lightning, bowling the man to the ground and biting and clawing him in a fury. Lysa clicked her fingers as well, jabbing a finger at the lieutenant. Dame streaked forward and, knocking him over, turned and crushed his skull between her jaws. In death, he looked very surprised. The others were easily dealt with; Morrigan froze the majority of them while Alistair and Draco cut down the rest. Rutger still had the leader pinned under him. Draco walked over and whistled at Rutger, who promptly leapt off him. The man, covered in dozens of lacerations, stared in horror at the party.

"I surrender!" he screamed, raising his hands in supplication. The smell of urine filled the air. Draco wrinkled hi s nose in disgust. "Your purse, and everything else you stole," he commanded, holding out a hand. The man quickly dropped a large heavy coin purse, and a key to a lockbox, which he pointed to, hidden amongst the wagons. Draco glared at him, wondering what to do with him. Eventually, he nodded to Lysa. She drew back her bow and fired. The arrow went clean through his right temple, and out the other side, embedding itself in the wood of an upturned wagon. Draco tore the arrow free and tossed it back to her. They quickly looted the corpses of any money and respectfully pulled the body of their latest victim, a knight, to the side of the road and laid him out as if part of a funeral procession. Lysa pocketed the knights will and locket, explaining that they should find the one the will spoke of.

Draco picked up the lockbox and hefting it over his shoulder, led the way down the road and of to the side. There stood Lothering. It was a small town, barely a large village. A hundred people or so might live there and that must have been it. A windmill dominated the town centre, beside which stood a small house, but loving built from pine and stone, with a large sign painted on the front; a hawk. The chantry stood in the south east of the town, surrounded by a small refugee camp. They could just make out the glimmer of templar steel.

"Well, there it is; Lothering," said Alistair quietly, "Pretty as a painting." Draco placed the lockbox on the floor for a moment.

Morrigan glanced at Alistair and smirked. "Ah. Finally decided to rejoin the living again? Falling on your sword in grief seemed like too much trouble no doubt."

Alistair turned to glower at her. "Is my being upset so hard to understand? Have you ever lost anyone important to you?" He missed the uncomfortable shuffle of Lysa and Draco. "How would you react if you're mother died?"

Morrigan grinned. "_Before_ or _after_ I stopped laughing?"

Alistair blinked. "Right, very creepy. Forget I asked."

"You have been awfully quiet, Alistair," put in Lysa, struggling not to laugh.

"I was just thinking-"

"_No wonder it took so long._"

"Oh I get it," said Alistair raising his hands in mock surprise. "This is the part where we're shocked to discover that you've never had a friend your entire life."

Morrigan smirked. "I can be friendly when I desire to. Alas, being more intelligent does not make it so."

Draco and Lysa coughed violently, behind their hands.

"Anyway," said Alistair, turning to the others, ignoring Morrigan. "I was thinking we ought to talk about where we are going to go first."

Draco sighed glumly. "We should get the treaties fulfilled as soon as possible," he said nodding to Alistair's pack.

"Flemeth's suggestion is the best idea, I think," said Alistair nodding. "Lysa, me and Draco have looked at the Treaties; do you want a look."

Lysa blushed angrily. Alistair looked around in terror. "What did I say?" he asked in fright.

"I grew up in the Alienage, dunce," muttered Lysa. "I can't read or write."

Alistair garbled in embarrassment. Draco glared at them. "Anyway," he said, determined to get the conversation back on track, "We should think about where to go."

"There are three main groups we can ask assistance from," continued Alistair, backing away from Lysa. "The Circle of Magi, the Dalish elves and the dwarves of Orzammar. I still also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first."

Lysa and Draco glanced at each other. "Why are you leaving it up to us?" asked Lysa curiously.

"You are the senior Warden," added Draco.

Alistair frowned in thought. "Well, let's see…if we all follow me, we'll all end up in a cheese shop somewhere in Orlais in a fortnight, surrounded by Chevaliers and angry peasant mobs armed with pitchforks…and comfy cushions. I have a terrible sense of direction and an appalling sense of judgement."

The others laughed, which made Alistair pout, even more so when the dogs started to bark in what sounded like mirth as well.

"Well that is unsurprising," said Morrigan.

Alistair growled and crossed his arms, "Well, I don't know where to go! Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don't know I we should go to him first. I'm not going to fight about it."

Lysa was silent, contemplating something. Wondering what was worrying her Draco asked, "Something wrong Lysa?"

Lysa turned to him and smiled wanly. "I think you should take charge Draco."

Draco blinked in surprise. "You know Fereldan politics, you know how to fight and you've seen a hell of a lot more of Fereldan than me; I haven't left Denerim before I was recruited. Shit," she said ruefully, rubbing her head. "I don't know where Redcliffe is, much less Orzammar."

Draco sighed in defeat. He knew it shouldn't have surprised him. _I've got more fighting experience then them and know more about the politics of this place. _What worried him was the fact that he had never been trained to lead; his brother had had that privilege. He had been trained to follow orders and to fight. _Not that I ever learned the former_, he thought grimly.

"Fine," he said gruffly. "I'll take command."

Alistair and Lysa let out sighs of relief.

"We need to find these people," said Lysa.

"Orzammar's main entrance is in the Frostback Mountains, in the northwest of Fereldan," said Draco shrugging.

They all looked at him in surprise. He sighed. "_That's _where I learned my Berserker skills. My family sent me there… to be squired as part of this program to bolster Fereldan's relationship with the dwarves." He wouldn't tell them the truth about why he was sent there; not yet.

"The Dalish will be in the Brecillian Forest," Alistair added. "That's to the east. The Circle is on the northeast edge of Lake Calenhad to the west. Redcliffe is built at the far southern edge of the lake as well."

Draco was silent for a few minutes, considering the next move. "Morrigan, what do you suggest?" he asked, glancing up at her.

Morrigan shrugged. "Attack this Loghain directly. Deal with him and the recruitment of this army will be the easier."

"Oh, yes," said Alistair sarcastically, "It's not like he has the advantage of an army and tactical brilliance on his side is it?"

Morrigan gave him a withering glare. "I was asked for my opinion and I gave it."

Lysa turned to Draco. "Well?"

Draco sighed and rubbed his head. He honestly had no idea what to do; Orzammar would eat his friends and spit out the bones, the Dalish wouldn't be too happy to see three humans and he didn't know where they were, and the Circle had its own problems with the Templars.

_But I've got to do this, and I might as well do it my way_. He straightened up and nodded brusquely. "We'll decide once we've got what we need from here."

Morrigan nodded and twirled her hands, humming a tune while Lysa smiled and inclined her head. Alistair bent down and picked up the lockbox and they moved off.

They came across a merchant selling his wares at six times there worth to the townspeople. A Sister was currently trying to awaken his humanity, but so far was failing. Angry at the man's greed Draco stalked over and spoke, "What's going on, Sister?"

"This man is making the people pay extortionate prices for his wares; he's making beggars of them!" she cried, gesturing at the crowd.

The merchant scoffed and turned to Draco, but before he could speak, Draco cut him off, razing his hand and saying "Lower you prices. Make a profit, but don't beggar the needy; they outnumber you by a dozen and can always claim your goods another way."

The man paled and stared at the crowd of people, before bobbing his head. Draco dropped a few silvers in his hand and picked up a small bag of healing potions.

As they walked off, Alistair and Lysa nodded approvingly, while Morrigan scoffed darkly. The Sister stepped forward and said, "Thank you, my child. The world needs more people like you."

Draco nodded. "Is there someone in charge around here?" he asked. "Ser Bryant is the leader of the Templars here," said the Sister shrugging. "Could you give him this?" asked Draco, gesturing to the lockbox. "It contains all the stolen goods the bandits took."

The Sister broke into a wide smile. "I take it there are gone?"

Draco hesitated. "In a manner of speaking."

The Sister got the message. She took the lockbox and bowing left. They walked through the town, stopping now and then to help the people and completing a few of the requests from the chantry board. After finishing the last quest they walked into the chantry, hoping to find some news. Inside were a good score of people, a few of whom were Templars. Morrigan eyed them suspiciously.

Draco approached the leader, and asked, "Ser Bryant?"

The tired knight looked at him curiously. "Yes. How may I help you? Wait, are you the one who killed the bandits on the road?"

Draco nodded. Bryant grinned. "Thank the Maker. I've had enough trouble from those bastards. Glad they got what they deserved. Here," he said, passing Draco a small purse. "You earned it."

"Is there any news you can tell us?" asked Lysa.

"Apart from the death of the king and some eighty thousand men and the Grey Wardens being branded as traitors and Loghain being named regent, no not really. But judging from your armour and weapons you already knew that."

Draco nodded darkly. "We did not betray the king."

"Doubtless," said the Templar honestly, "But keep your title quiet while you are here; it'll make things much easier." They nodded and walked off, towards a knight bearing the symbol of Redcliffe on his shield.

The knight turned to look at them and frowned. "who…?"

"Ser Donnal?" asked Alistair incredulously. "Is that you?"

"Alistair?" Donnal grinned. "By the Maker, how are you? I was certain you were dead!"

"Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain."

"Yes; I heard he attainted the Wardens. All of them, bar one or two who managed to flee to Orlais or the Free Marches. If Arl Eamon were well, that order would never have been passed."

Draco felt a bucketful of ice cascade into his stomach. "_Were_ well? Is he ill?"

Donnal nodded grimly. "A wasting illness. He has been in a coma for the last few weeks. We were sent out by the Arlessa to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes to cure him. Insane, I know," he sighed at their incredulous looks, "But every healer and mage has failed to cure him. Desperate times calls for desperate measures. The Urn is said to be able to heal any malady or disease." He looked down and sighed sadly, "But I have found nothing. Nothing but traps, bones and dead ends. If such a thing exists it is well hidden."

"One of your fellows lies on the road," said Lysa handing him the locket and note.

Donnal sighed sadly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So Henric is dead too. I wonder how many died on this fool quest. Thank you for giving me these. I should return to Redcliffe. I will inform the Arlessa and the knights of your survival and the truth of the battle. Makers Grace be on you all."

He passed them a gold piece and left, walking slowly towards the door. After he left, they stood about gazing at one another. Lysa shook her head. "If Eamon is ill we can't call for Loghains dismissal. This makes things a lot harder."

Morrigan snorted. "If all they can think to do is find the ashes of a long dead madwoman, 'tis unlikely that the man will be healed."

Draco nodded glumly. "Let's go to the tavern; there might be more news there."

"If not we can still drown our sorrows," muttered Alistair.

The tavern was called Dane's Refuge. It was small, but well lit and strongly built. Two dozen people filled the building. As they walked towards the bar, four men stepped forward.

**Lysa**

The men bore the symbol of the Teyrnir of Gwaren on their shields and armour. Lysa instinctively gripped one of the hidden daggers hanging on her belt. Draco's arms hung loosely by his side, but his hands were curled like talons ready for the onslaught. Morrigan and Alistair also dropped into their battle stances.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here then," said the leader, folding his arms and smiling grimly. "I think we've just been blessed."

"We'll see if you say the same in a matter of moments," muttered Morrigan darkly.

"Uh oh," said Alistair. The dogs began to snarl.

One of the soldiers turned to the Commander. "Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man and an elf by these very descriptions?" he asked rhetorically, gesturing to her and Draco. "And everyone said that they hadn't seen one."

"Seems we were lied to."

Lysa gripped her dagger, ready to fight when-

She approached. A Chantry Sister, dressed in the robes of red and gold. Her short hair was well kept and the colour of fire. Her eyes were china blue and sparkled in the firelight. Her skin was pale and clear, her lips were full and red, and when she walked she seemed to glide. Lysa felt her mouth dry and her heart skip a beat. _She's beautiful_, she thought in awe.

"Gentlemen, please," she spoke quietly, with a distinct Orlesian accent. "Surely there is no need for trouble? These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

Lysa could have listened to that voice all day, watching those soft lips moving like butterflies dancing on the wind.

"They're more than that. Now stay out of this, Sister. You protect these traitors you get the same as them," the man spat harshly, gripping his maul.

Lysa dragged her eyes from the Sister, just as Draco said, "Stand back Sister; things are about to hit the roof."

"Kill the Sister and anyone who tries to stop you," spat the Commander, drawing his maul.

"Right. Let's make this quick!" cried one of his men.

Draco didn't draw his swords. Instead, he threw a few silvers to the barkeep and grabbed the Commander by the neck. Getting him in a headlock under his arm, he grabbed a bottle of ale, took a swig from it, then smashed over the mans head. The man swooned and then screamed as Draco shoved a candle to the alcohol on his hair. As he burned, Draco grabbed him and dunked him in a barrel of water, holding him under the water. Lysa, following Draco's lead let go of her knife and began punching another soldier rapidly in the gut, her Grey Warden strength overwhelming the man, pushing him back and tripping him over a table. She grabbed a small bottle of wine and drank it all down, running the back of a hand over her mouth once she was done, then she smashed down on the mans head. Alistair and the rest of the tavern were blinking in surprise, while Morrigan watched with interest, drinking wine from a small glass. The Sister, taking the bizarre fight in her stride, drew her dagger and disarmed the last two soldiers gracefully, moving like a swan, swerving left and right before clubbing them down with the pommel of the dagger. Draco was whistling as he held the struggling Commander down, lifting him up every now and then so that he could breath. Eventually, once all the soldiers had been dealt with, Draco hefted the man up and through him to the floor with a wet _splat_. He coughed violently and Draco stood, towering above him. Eventually, the man staggered to his feet and stared at them in surprised horror and fear.

"All right! You win! We _cough cough _surrender!" he yelled raising his hands in supplication.

The Sister smiled brightly at her. "Good. They've learnt their lesson and we can stop fighting now."

Lysa glanced over at Draco who was starring down at the men. "Draco…_don't_," Lysa pleaded. She was _so_ tired of fighting. It would be nice to stop for a little while. Draco let out a long, rattling hiss.

"Take a message to Loghain," he spat. "Tell him the Wardens know what really happened."

The men relaxed and the Commander garbled out, "I'll tell him. Thank you!"

They all but ran from the tavern. Morrigan slowly clapped and said, "Most amusing."

The barkeep cleared his throat nervously. "About the money," he said to Draco, "You paid me too much for the damage and the drinks."

Morrigan took the money with a grin.

Lysa watched the Sister under her eyelashes shyly, watching her every movement. She licked her lips as she approached them, smiling sweetly.

"I apologise for interfering, but I couldn't just stand by and not help." Morrigan scoffed at her words.

"We appreciate what you tried to do," Lysa muttered abashed and rubbing her head as the rest of the tavern returned to their business, the brawl ended.

"I am glad you found it in your hearts to show mercy. Allow me to introduce myself," she said curtsying, "I am Leliana, Lay Sister of the Chantry of Lothering. Or I was."

Lysa smiled at her. "I am Lysa. This is Draco, Morrigan, Alistair, Dame and Rutger."

"They said you were Grey Wardens. I am surprised one of you is an elf, but," she noticed the stung look on Lysa's face and the way her companions stiffened, "The elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no? I know after what happened you'll need all the help you can get. That's why I'm coming along."

Lysa felt a sudden surge of happiness that the woman would be coming with them, but the others glanced at each other in confusion.

"You have skill with a blade," said Draco. Alistair stared at him in shock, and Lysa carried on, saying, "We need all the help we can get too."

Leliana grinned smugly. "That and the Maker wants me to go with you."

They all blinked. Alistair made an odd noise in the back of his throat. Morrian made a quiet comment on lunacy.

"Can you…elaborate?" asked Draco, his eyebrows raised.

Leliana shook her head sadly and stammered, "I-I know that sounds…absolutely _insane _but it's true. I had a dream…a vision."

"More crazy," said Alistair. "I thought we were all full up."

"Look at the people here," implored Leliana desperately, gazing at Lysa. "They are lost in their despair…And this darkness, this chaos, will spread…The Maker doesn't want that! What you do…what you are _meant _to do, it is the Makers work. Let me help!"

Lysa turned to Draco and whispered, "She wants to do the right thing. Please…"

Draco looked at her, and she saw a knowing gleam deep in his eyes. He suddenly smiled and turned to Leliana. "Welcome to the family."

Morrigan stared at Draco and Lysa in horror. "Perhaps your skulls were more badly damaged than mother thought."

Lysa blushed even deeper when Leliana gave a heart breaking smile. "Thank you for giving me this chance. I will not let you down!"

Draco gestured at her robes, "If you're coming with us you better get some armour. Here," he said tossing her a bundle of leather armour from his pack.

"I'll go to my room and change." As she moved off, Lysa had to make a conscious effort not to follow her. She returned a few minutes later. The leather armour hugged her form closely and over her back was strung a longbow, while her dagger hung at her hip. She nodded at them and at Draco's gentle words, they left.

As they left the borders of the town, Lysa started at a deep rumbling voice to her left on the western side of the path. It was the cage they had passed earlier on their quests, but had assumed to be empty. In it sat a gigantic figure, bent over like a hunchback in order to sit down. He spoke in a deep melodious language, sounding like poetry murmured in empty halls.

Lysa turned to the cage and, curiously, approached. The figure looked up at her suddenly as she stood before it, pinning her under amethyst eyes. It stood up, quick as snake, and looked down on her. She stared up in awe. Draco was very tall, standing at about six foot two, while Alistair was five foot and eleven inches as was Morrigan and Leliana stood at five foot ten and she at five foot three. But this man, for man it was…He dwarfed Draco by easily a foot. He had long white hair drawn back in six queues into a star like bun behind his head and his bronze skin made him look like a statue of metal. He looked down at her, then said gruffly, "You are not one of my captors. I have nothing to say to you, elf. Leave me in peace."

Insulted by the words, Lysa straightened her back and glared straight into his eyes. "You're a prisoner? Who put you here?"

The man sighed in exasperation. "I am in a _cage_ am I not? I've been placed here by your Chantry."

He straightened his back still further. "I am Sten, of the Beresaad. The Vanguard of the qunari peoples."

"I am Draco," said Draco, stepping forward and bowing his head to Sten. "These are my companions; Leliana, Lysa, Alistair, Morrigan and the hounds Dame and Rutger."

"You mock me. Or you show manners which I have not come to expect in your lands," the qunari said mildly.

"Though it matters little. I will die soon enough."

Morrigan pulled on Draco's arm and said, gesturing to the qunari, "This is a proud and magnificent creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot find a use for him I _suggest _releasing him for mercy's sake alone." Leliana nodded in agreement.

"Mercy? I never would have expected that from you," exclaimed Alistair.

"I would also _suggest _that Alistair take his place in the cage."

Draco and Lysa laughed at Alistair's expression. Leliana looked nonplussed.

"Yes, _that's _what I would have expected."

Sten spoke again. "I would suggest that you leave me to my fate."

"I find myself in need of skilled help," said Draco stepping forward, closer to the giant.

"No doubt," replied the giant, without a trace of sarcasm. "What help do you want?"

"I and Alistair and Lysa are sworn to protect the land against the Blight."

The qunari's eyes sharpened sharply on Draco, his gaze unflinching. "The Blight? You are Grey Wardens then?"

"Yes."

The giant slowly rotated his gaze across the three of them. "Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens strength and skill…though I suppose not _every _legend can be true."

Draco laughed at the giants words. Lysa smiled grimly and Alistair looked affronted.

"Would the revered mother let you go?"

"Perhaps, if you were to say that the Grey Wardens need my assistance. It seems as likely to bring my death as waiting here."

Draco nodded. "We will return shortly."

Sten said nothing but folded his arms and watched them leave.

Lysa turned to Draco and asked, "Did you see his arms!"

Draco nodded. "He's a great swordsman if his arms speak true."

Alistair cleared his throat loudly. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but we don't know what he's there for."

"He murdered eight farmers, including the children," Leliana explained, seemingly undisturbed. Alistair did a double take between her and Draco.

"You're still not going to bring him along with us?" asked Alistair in rage.

"We're all murderers, Alistair," replied Draco. Alistair shut his mouth and looked down in silence.

"Everyone is deserving of forgiveness Alistair," added Leliana kindly.

Once they entered the chantry, they made their way to the revered mothers office. The old woman looked up from the tome in her hands and smiled. "Welcome, children. And welcome back Leliana. I hope you have decided to stay?"

Lysa saw Leliana's eyes harden and her voice darken. "No revered mother. These Grey Wardens have decided to accept my aid."

"Grey Wardens! You should not remain here long," muttered the revered mother, turning to them. "We will be leaving soon, but first I wish a favour-"

"For traitors?" asked the woman darkly. She sighed and rubbed her head. "I am sorry…The local lord has left and all the burdens of leadership have been thrust upon me. My uncle served in the Grey Wardens. I will be happy to help." She sat back and smiled tiredly.

Draco nodded his head respectfully. "The qunari prisoner. I wish him released so that he might help me."

The revered mother looked at him as if he had just informed her that Andraste and Maferath had had a child and he was their descendant.

"You wish the help of…a murderer!"

"Revered mother," said Leliana gently stepping forward, "We were both there at his trial. He is sorry for his trespass, we both know it. Please, grant him the chance to redeem himself."

The revered mother looked down in her lap for a long while, then sighed. "I am too old for this. Very well Warden," she looked up. "You may take the qunari with you. There is nothing more I can do for you…aside from a blessing, perhaps?"

Lysa, Alistair and Leliana knelt down before the revered mother. She looked up at Draco and Morrigan. "By your eyes you do not wish a blessing, but that matters not." She stood up and raising a hand spoke, saying, "Maker, bless Your children. Let Your light be a beacon in their darkness and guide them in their strife. So may it be." She turned to look at the other two and smiled sadly. "You do not wish the blessing, but I still say this; may the Maker protect you and guide you through this strife to victory. Farewell Grey Wardens."

When they returned to Sten he looked down at them with mild surprise as they unlocked the door. "And so, it is done," he said. "I will follow you into battle. In doing so I will find my atonement. Let us be gone."

Draco nodded and they set off. They had nearly reached the next part of the road when a high pitched scream reached their ears. "Back from my son you scum!" came a yell. Lysa drew her bow and nocked an arrow, running ahead with Leliana and the dogs. Running up the ramp they saw two dwarves, a young one with watery eyes and mousy blonde hair, and his father (by the yell) who had brown hair and a beard, surrounded by six darkspawn. The dogs rushed forwards and took down the Alpha leading them, while Leliana and Lya shot down another each. Sten streaked past them, grapping the Alpha's fallen battleaxe. Swinging it within an inhuman strength, Sten cut a Hurlock in twain, in a huge explosion of blood and bone. He whipped the axe back again and took out another. Draco arrived just in time to slit the belly of the last one. Lysa grinned at their new companions. _We've got a leader with a good judge of character_. "Careful," she exclaimed to the others, "Touch the darkspawn blood and you might get the Blight sickness and the only cure for that is becoming a Grey Warden."

"Which none of us know how to do," muttered Alistair.

The older dwarf approached and bowed. "Mighty timely arrival there, my friend," he exclaimed. "I'm much obliged."

"You're welcome," said Lysa, stowing her bow and retrieving the arrows.

"The name's Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur. This is my son, Sandal. Say hello my boy."

The boy looked at them with eyes that, though slow, possessed a strange power and gaze. "Hello."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask were you what brings you out here? Perhaps we are going the same way."

Draco chuckled darkly. "I doubt you would wish to travel with Grey Wardens."

"Grey Wardens, hm? My, that rather does explain a lot." He smiled ruefully. "No offence, but I suspect that there's more excitement on your road then me and my boy can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune though." He bowed and turned back to the wreck of his wagon. Sandal looked at them keenly, before saying, "Goodbye." Something in his eyes sent a chill up Lysa's spine.

_Camp_

_The great dragon stared down at her, surrounded by a corona of darkness and corruption. Its vast purple eyes gazed down at her from its perch upon the ancient bridge. Below it were the fires of million torches and the screams of thousands of voices. It raised its head and roared, fire the colour of ebony, shot through with amethyst, billowing from its jaws. It cried out its command;_

_"EAT"_

Lysa woke with a start inside her tent, drenched in sweat. She sat there, her eyes roaming the pale material until she was satisfied that she was back in her tent. She let out a sigh of relief…and fear. She pushed herself up and out of the tent, desperate to escape the cramped tent. It reminded her too much of the cavern from her dream. She stood in the camp, dressed in her trousers and shirt, staring up at the stars.

"Bad dreams, huh?" came a voice. She turned to see the others sitting around the campfire, removed of arms and weapons. She had retired early, pleading exhaustion.

"It was," she shook her head and sat down with them. "So real…"

"It is real. Sort of," said Alistair. The smell of stew rose from the pot in front of Draco, who was adding spices and herbs to the concoction.

"You see," said Draco looking up. "One of the things about the Grey Wardens is we can _sense _or _hear _the spawn. That's what it was. Hearing them."

"The Archdemon…its talks to them," added Alistair taking a bowl of stew. "We feel it, just like they do. That is how we know it is a Blight."

"Why didn't Duncan tell the rest of the country?" asked Leliana in confusion, sitting beside Lysa. Lysa blushed at the contact.

"Doubtless, the other bas did not wish to believe him," stated Sten. He sipped the stew and nodded. "The orphan stew is satisfactory," he said to Draco.

Everyone blanched. Draco whistled quietly. He looked up. "Chicken and garlic," he said.

"Thank the Maker," gasped Alistair.

They all spun round as the sound of hooves approached. Draco stood, and stared into the darkness.

"Wardens?" came a familiar voice.

"Bodahn?" called Draco. The small wagon, piled high with crates and goods came round the corner, pulled by a stout oxen. The two dwarves sat on the wagon, Sandal waving enthusiastically and grinning like a pumpkin. Bodahn pulled to a halt by the tents and leapt down. He walked over with a nervous smile.

"I got to thinking you see," he explained. "Adventure means business. And I always dreamt of an adventure. So, I decided that if the offer was still standing…" he looked hopefully at them. Draco looked down on him angrily and then his face split into a grin.

"Welcome! We are just having a late meal. Care to join?"

"Gladly! Come on, Sandal."

The group shuffled around to allow the dwarves to sit. However just before he did, Bodahn clapped his hand to his head. "Stones ore! Near clear forgot!" He ran back to the wagon and came back with a roll of parchment. "Here," he said passing it over to Draco. "A contract I came up with for our mutual benefit."

Draco looked over it and laughed. "We trade with you and you sell your goods and whatever you pick up at half price. In return we protect you on the road and refer you to others."

Bodahn nodded. "Also we will fix any equipment you need repaired and Sandal offers enchantment," he finished, his eyes twinkling. Morrigan's head shot to Sandal. "He can perform enchantment?" she asked incredulously.

"Why yes," cried Bodahn. "Show her my boy."

Sandal put down his bowl and stood. He pulled out a small dagger and a little rune that crackled with energy. He slowly began to push the rune and the dagger together, rubbing them up and down. Slowly the rune, slowly began to slide into the metal. Suddenly, there was a loud crack. The blade suddenly crackled with power. They all gasped in awe, bar Sten who was eyeing Sandal in trepidation and respect.

"Enchantment," said Sandal happily, passing the dagger to Morrigan, who took it, eyeing it minutely.

Sandal and Bodahn sat back down and began to eat.

Lysa smiled. Things were starting to look up.

Leliana looked up at her and the other Wardens. "May I ask why you all joined the Wardens?"

Draco shrugged. "Whole family butchered, payment for my rescue and that of my sister in law."

Lysa sighed. "The son of the Arl of Denerim raped my cousin, killed three others and murdered my fiancé."

Leliana blushed in embarrassment and shame. "I'm sorry," she said, resting a hand on Lysa's knee. Lysa smiled shyly.

Alistair cleared his throat, "Got piss-arse bored and got rescued from boring as shit life by Duncan."

Morrigan sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "They just told us the horrible reasons why they joined and you say something like that."

Alistair shrugged. "Got to bring back some cheer."

"Men!" yelled Lysa and Leliana.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER Five: A Broken Mind**

**Draco**

_Camp_

The sun slowly crept over the horizon, bathing the world in golden light. Draco stretched his arms and yawned, his bones creaking as he moved. He approached the fire pit and awoke the embers still smoking inside. He picked up the pot and made his way over to the stream outside the camp. He skirted around the snoring dogs and Sandal, who was cuddled up to the hounds. He could hear the others snoring as he slipped between the tents. He made his way through the trees, avoiding the brambles and thorns, before arriving at the stream. It was barley a foot wide, but deep and clear, bubbling as it wound its way through the tiny gorge of its passage. Small lilies and reeds grew on the banks and in the water. Dipping the pot into the water, he wondered what would be their first move. Personally, he thought they should head to Orzammar first, but doubtless his companions would all be hopelessly lost in her politics. Also, they were much closer to the Brecillian Forest. Logically, the best choice would be to head straight east and attempt to recruit the clans. However, it may take weeks or months to find a clan, and even then they may not help them. That left Arl Eamon or the Circle. He looked around the woods, searching the trees for threats as he thought. Eamon was badly ill from what the knight had said. By the time they reached him, he may well be dead. So, he decided, hefting the full pot and making his way back to camp, that the Circle would be their first port of call. _They're not allowed to leave the Tower anyway, so they'll all be there_, he thought. After that they'd head to Orzammar, recruit the dwarves and then head back to the south east and enlist the elves. Then, they'd recruit Eamon. He knew that by that time Eamon may be dead. _But if he is Bann Teagan will take his place_, and anyway, he trusted Teagan more than Eamon. Eamon had always struck him as a traditional man, dedicated to maintaining the status quo. Teagan however, was more interested in the people of Fereldan, both men and elves and was a keen idealist and reformer.

Abandoning political reasoning for the moment, Draco arrived back at camp and began to cook the morning meal. The smell of cooking soup rose from the pot, awaking his companions. Sten was the first to arrive, sitting down opposite him and taking the bowl filed with the sweet smelling liquid. Next was Lysa, arriving dressed in her armour and bearing her weapons. The others trickled out over the next few minutes, with Bodahn and Sandal arriving last. Bodahn was carrying a large greatsword, wrought of veridium and Sandal carried a large chest. The others were amazed by the dwarves strength, but Draco laughed quietly in the confines of his skull. _Wait till they see what those in Orzammar can do!_

Bodahn cleared his throat. "Ser, here is the equipment you asked for," he said, passing the sword to Sten. He took it, eying the blade closely and running a callused thumb over the edge. Sandal dumped the chest before him and Sten opened it. The gleam of steel plate and chain gleamed in the morning sun. Sten nodded. "It will do." He picked up the equipment and marched back to his tent. He returned a few minutes later, gleaming in the massive plate armour. As he sat down Draco finished his food and banged the pot with his spoon. They all turned to him.

"Here's my plan," he said, pulling the map carefully from the satchel at his side and pointing to it as he spoke. "We'll head north from here, to the Circle of Magi. From there, we'll circle around the northern edge of Lake Calenhad and make our way to the Frostback Mountains northern border and enter Orzammar. Once we have the dwarves on our side, we'll head south, through the mountains and curve along the northern borders of the Wilds to the Brecillian Forest. Then we turn back west and see if we can enlist Arl Eamon-"

"Wait," said Alistair, raising a finger. "We're leaving Arl Eamon till last?"

"He just said that dunce," hissed Morrigan, dunking her bowl back in the small pot of water used for cleaning.

"But he is the best option," continued Alistair hopefully, turning back to Draco. "He has an army, is respected in the Landsmeet and-"

"Is currently ill with an incurable disease," interrupted Draco. "That means he can't order his army to march with us. And neither can anyone else, until he's cured." He stood up and shrugged, rolling up the map and depositing it back in the satchel. "Currently he is as worthless an ally as a hundred broken swords."

Alistair glared at him for a moment, before nodding and looking away angrily. Draco sighed and shrugged. _Eamon means a lot to him; I should have put that better_, he silently berated himself. The others also looked shocked by his callousness, with the obvious exceptions of Sten and Morrigan. "Besides," he added, hoping to restore some moral. "We're going out to some rather isolated and unknown areas. We might come across some healing lore or something else that may help."

Alistair looked up at him hopefully, then nodded slowly.

"Parshaara," said Sten, standing. "We should be gone from here soon."

The others followed suit and within a quarter of an hour the camp was disassembled and the tents and the rest of the stores and equipment was stored within the cart. Bodahn and Sandal climbed aboard and they set of, marching through the forest into the north, aiming for the Tower of Magi in the far distance.

_Denerim_

The great bells of the Cathedral tolled sonorously, echoing above the tumult of the city. The market was filled with townspeople, hawking and buying wares, eating and drinking and making enough noise to raise the dead from their ashes. But by far the most common topic of conversation was the battle of Ostagar and the Darkspawn. People whispered in the inns and taverns, soldiers and guards discussed it in their barracks and nobles poke of the desecration of their lands. All throughout the city the same phrases were repeating themselves, over and over again.

"Thousands dead and more fleeing north…"

"…tore off her face and ate her alive…"

"…bodies hanging from trees, their guts paving the ground…"

"…an' creatures bigger 'an houses, rippin' knights in two…"

And above it all, the sound of the funeral rites echoed from Cathedral.

Hundreds of refugees poured into the city daily, bring fresh news of darkness and despair. Every day, fresh reports of lost towns trickled back to Denerim. By now, the death toll was well over a hundred thousand and more were dying by the day.

Anora sat behind her desk, high in the Royal Palace, her quill, slowly, elegantly, tracing over the parchment, writing out edicts and orders for the army, as suggested by her father. The sunlight filtered through the stain-glass windows, illuminating her in the light of a thousand colours.

As she reached the bottom of the parchment and prepared to sign her name and stamp the royal seal, the sound of soft footfalls came from outside the door. She looked up in mild curiosity, wondering why anyone was attempting to hide their presence. Guards and servants were common here and there was no need to mask one's presence. Unless you were up to no good. The footsteps slowed to a stop. She waited for a moment, listening keenly. The footsteps moved again. But now there were two. She stood up, suddenly gripped by an insane desire to see who was outside the room. She quietly slipped to the door and surreptitiously opened the door. Peeking out, she saw, to her surprise, Arl Howe in his drakeskin armour and an elf with long blonde hair. _Howe hates elves_, she thought as they slipped off towards her father's quarters. _So what is he doing with one?_

Quietly, glancing about her to see she wasn't being followed, she made her way down the lavish corridor to the great white door stamped with the wyvern of Gwaren. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open and slipped inside. Her father's quarters were sparsely decorated, with only a few chairs and tables and a few bookcases littered around. However, the walls were lined with many trophies of battle; helms and swords, arrows and shields and even the broken standard of the Royal Guard of the Emperor, taken at the battle of River Dane from the hand of the Commander himself, his armour now borne upon her father's shoulders. She made her way over to the doorway to the drawing room, from which a flickering fire could be seen. Peeking through the crack in the door, her father could be seen. He had his back to the doorway and had a goblet in his hand. Arl Howe was standing nearby, while the elf was hidden in the shadows, his presence unknown to her father. Arl Howe was speaking in his cold voice.

"My Liege, I bring word from the Bannorn; the Banns are beginning to splinter," he was saying. Anora felt the hairs on her neck rise at the words 'My Liege'. _Is father planning a coup? Why? And what's this about the Banns?_

"Some are declaring you unfit for the regency and demand you step down, and others support your claim absolutely." Anora began to sweat as she leant in closer, desperate to hear more and yet dreading to hear it.

"Both sides are said to be gathering their forces. It seems there is to be civil war even with the Darkspawn. Pity." His voice, though well cultured and proud, and usually showed no hint of emotion, he spoke honestly, as if war was something he had planned or hoped to avoid. _Is he planning something?_ She glanced at her father, who shocked her by nodding along meekly.

"There is also…ahem, another problem," continued Howe. Both Anora and Loghain turned to him. Her father looked old and drawn as he stood there, his eyes fixed on Howe.

"It appears that several Grey Wardens survived the battle of Ostagar."

Loghain started and shook his head, frowning in surprise. "Impossible…They all died." He clenched his fists and the goblet creaked alarmingly. "I made damn sure that those bastards were all dead! I…I even saw what happened!"

Anora felt sick and the world began to spin. _Was he lying earlier? Did he betray the Wardens? Did he betray-_

"I know Your Majesty," those words brought her sharply into focus as she gazed at Howe and her father in shock. He wasn't a king, merely a regent. The proper title should have been 'Your Grace'. Something was very wrong here. "But it is true. The bastard, the Tabris girl and the Cousland whelp all survived. They were in Lothering a matter of days ago, and heading north. They have enlisted a kun-ary-"

"Qunari," muttered her father.

"A qunari, what appears to be an ex-bard and an apostate. My spies inform me they were seen with a pair of dwarf merchants heading towards the Circle Tower. They will be there in two days. Inside the Tower," continued Howe as Loghain leant against a nearby desk, glaring at some parchments. She could vaguely see a seal that looked like a…_griffon_? "They are untouchable. However, Uldred should be able to deal with them. But…"

Howe stepped back and pointed into the darkness where the elf was hidden. "I have arranged alternative methods should he fail."

All three of them looked into the darkness. Nothing stirred. Loghain glowered at Howe who shook his head in bemusement. Then, a soft, melodious voice from the fireplace spoke, saying; "The Antivan Crows send their regards."

All three of them whipped around. The elf was standing, his back to the fireplace, his lips quirked and his arms folded as he looked at the two men.

Anora shuddered slightly in surprise. The assassin had slipped past the men and her, and had arrived behind Loghain without a sound. Had he been hostile, the regent would have died.

"An _assassin_?" her father whispered looking the elf over. The elf shrugged and smirked wider.

"Against the Grey Wardens, we _will_ need the very _best_," said Howe, shrugging his shoulders and folding his arms.

"And the most expensive," laughed the assassin.

Loghain shook his head and walked back to the fireplace. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank deeply. There was silence for a few minutes, the only sound the whisper of the wind, the murmur of the outside world and the crackle of the fire.

"_Just. Get. It. Done,_" hissed Loghain, as if the very idea of assassins disgusted him.

The assassin grinned and bowed deeply to Loghain. Howe inclined his head, "My Liege."

Howe and the assassin approached the door. Anora felt her blood chill. _If they open the door they'll find me, I have to return to my office!_ She slipped off quickly dodging through the atrium and out into the corridor, careful to pull the door shut behind her. Seeing no one was near she hurriedly made her way back to her office. Now every shadow was an assassin and every sound the swish of a drawn dagger. She let go off her decorum in her panic and fled like a madwoman down the corridor and opened the door, closing it behind her just in time. The sound of footsteps approached. She leant against the wood, desperate to hide and yet unable to take her ear from the panels.

Howe was speaking. "How did you slip past us? That was impossible!"

The assassin laughed. "Not so, Arl Howe! Your regent's rafters were within leaping distance! I jumped up and grabbed a beam and carefully made my way over to the fireplace. I leapt down when I saw you both distracted by my disappearing trick!"

There came the sound of indrawn breath. "Impressive. But there will be no rafters in the wild…"

"But plenty of room for archers."

The two laughed darkly, the rich voice of the assassin mixing in dark symmetry with the cold voice of Howe.

Anora walked backed to her desk as the voices faded. She forward in her chair, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with fear, confusion and betrayal.

_What is father up to? He leaves the battlefield as the army is destroyed to save the nation, then it seems he is attempting a coup and abandoned the army to slaughter. Then he gives Arl Howe the Teyrnir of Highever, and Howe hires assassins to kill the last heir and the remaining Wardens. And on top of this, the Bannorn is threatening revolt. Does father want power? Does he see himself as the true heir of Maric, the only one capable of leading the nation? _Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of soft knocking on the door. She started and stared at the door in trepidation, wondering who was behind it. "M'lady? It is me…Erlina."

Anora relaxed and called breathed, "Thank the Maker! Come in!" she added much louder.

The small Orlesian elf opened the door and entered. She took one look and Anora and started. Anora's eyes were wide, her breath was harsh and fast and her hair was in disarray. Erlina stepped forward and gently took Anora's arm. "My lady, are you alright? You are-"

"I am fine, Erlina," said Anora shortly, taking the hand and gripping it hard enough that Erlina winced. "Erlina, I need you to follow these instructions _to the letter_, do you understand?"

She knew what she was going to ask could lead to Erlina being punished or worse, but she had to find out.

"But of course my lady," said Erlina curiously.

Anora quickly finished off the document she had been writing and passed it to her, but not before changing a single order on the paper. "Take this to my father in his quarters and while you are there see if you can read what the documents on his desk say. They have a griffon seal. Remain cautious as you do it, Arl Howe is somewhere nearby."

Erlina blanched but slowly nodded. Taking the parchment she bowed and left, moving quickly, glancing back at Anora nervously.

Anora sighed and rubbed her temples. It was high time she put these thoughts aside.

Erlina returned shortly afterwards. Anora looked up and sighed with relief. Erlina and she had always been much closer than mistress and servant; the elf maid had become the friend and confidant she needed and had been denied by her station. She was unharmed but grim.

"My lady, these papers," she said, shaking her head. "These are the Grey Warden documents, bearing seals of the First Warden."

Anora's jaw dropped. "How did you get…?"

Erlina shrugged. "Your father, he asked me to throw them in the fire. Most unfortunate that I misplaced them, no?"

"Yes," said Anora, picking up the papers. "Most unfortunate indeed."

_The Korkari Wilds_

The corpse floated in the water, bloated by a week in the tepid pool. Crows landed on its chest and began to peck at the revealed flesh. Flemeth sighed deeply. She smiled happily over the Wilds, taking in the vista. Corpses of humans and Darkspawn covered the land as far as she could see. She sipped the wine from the goblet, the red liquid trickling over her lips and down her chin to drip to the grass. Hawke was on his way with his mother and sister. Everything was prepared. When that fool triggered the War, things would all slip into place. She laughed a harsh brittle sound. It acted almost like a signal; thousands of crows began to flock about the plains and the marshes. She smiled darkly. "Hawke, Cousland, Tabris…" she turned and walked towards her hut, the trees shivering in the wind. "I wonder who will complete the Four?"

The sound of coughing drew her gaze. A dark haired, stocky figure lay in the mud a little way off, halfway into a pool and attempting to drag itself out. She smiled lazily. _Now, I wonder what that may be? _She walked slowly over to the figure, her feet hovering a fraction of an inch above the water. She eventually drew abreast the figure, the sunlight falling down between the clouds and illuminating the sigil on his arms and armour. It was the laurel wreaths. She sighed contentedly. Bending down she hefted him up and glared at him curiously. His face was scared and his nose broken, however, his beard was well kept and his skin well cared for. She sighed resignedly and shrugged him over her shoulder. Stalking towards her hut she muttered, "You Cousland's...all too easy to manipulate."

The great crow shot through the air.

_The Road_

**Leliana**

Leliana gasped in awe, clapping a hand to her mouth in amazement as she watched Lysa. She leapt high into the air, spinning over the stream before landing on the opposite bank, a full ten feet away. She turned her head back to them and grinned smugly, jerking her hip at Leliana. Leliana blushed in arousal and shame as she remembered her words of a few minutes before:

_"Lysa be serious; there is no way you could jump over that gap!" she yelled, pointing over the stream. "Let Sten and Draco finish the bridge and-"_

_"Parshaara! This wood is warped and unsuited for this work." Sten through down the saplings and sighed regretfully. Draco nodded and rose from the grassy earth. Draco smiled darkly. "Who's going to test the depth?"_

_The others looked at one another, but remained silent. Draco huffed angrily and stomped forward into the water. With a snarl of annoyance, he fell to his waist in the water and pushed on through the fast current, slipping once or twice on the stones. He reached the far side and clambered out, water gushing from his armour. He glowered at them and waved them over. Lysa smiled and stepped forward, but Leliana grabbed her arm. "Oh come on, you can't jump it. Don't be silly."_

_Lysa suddenly smirked. "How about a bet? If I make it you give me something. If I don't, I give you _something_."_

Leliana shook her head in surprise and gulped. Lysa sat down on a boulder in the rocky gorge grinning at the others. Leliana, still worrying about the wager, gently eased herself into the cold clear water that ran through the soft land between the circle and Lothering. She sucked in her breath in surprise; the water wasn't cold, it was blood freezing. The current tugged against her, threatening to pull her down under the foaming waves and into a chilly embrace certain to ruin her hair. _Not today_, she thought and grimly powered on. Finally, she reached the other side and climbed out, shaking her lower body to rid it of the water. Lysa watched her hungrily and Leliana, feeling flattered, smirked at her and shrugged her shoulders. "Well," she said, jutting out her hip provocatively, "What do you want me to do?"

Just as she had intended, Lysa blushed prettily and glanced away, muttering that she'd find something for her to do later. Leliana smiled and sat down behind her, watching the elf closely. When she had stepped forth to help them, she hadn't paid much attention to the dark skinned elf beside the others, taking her for a servant or something else, perhaps a paramour to one of the men. However, over the last two weeks journeying north, she had seen more and more behind the elf. Her gaze, though gentle, was piercing and harrowing, taking in every scrap of the local area in two swift glances. Her soft features and slender body belied a power and grace that reminded Leliana of a hunting panther. She often moved ahead, blending into the forest like a spectre, scouting the path they travelled for danger. At night Lysa was always the first to retire and the first to rise when the dawn came. Leliana had found herself drawn to the girl, despite the fact that she was doubtless younger than her by about six or seven years. It was odd, she thought, watching the sunlight dance on her hair. _But I have never had an elven lover; only human men and women. I've never noticed their_ beauty_ before. Perhaps the hatred the Orlesians have for the elves has engrained itself more in me than I had thought._

Lysa suddenly laughed, clapping her hands with glee, while Draco's hoarse laughter echoed throughout the small valley. Looking up, her eyes widened in surprise, then she hid her mouth behind her hand and giggled uncontrollably. Alistair, having waded into the water, had slipped on the rocks and was floundering like a child, screaming for help. Sten was beside him, eyeing him curiously while standing perfectly still beside him, untroubled by the current due to his massive bulk. Morrigan was still on the other side, laughing like a madwoman and Alistair begged for help. Morrigan muttered a few words, and, still smirking, morphed into a small falcon and flew across the water landing beside Draco and changing back. She turned round and all four of them burst into another round of laughter. Sten, growing tired of Alistair's foolishness, had picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, and was marching towards the others. He arrived shortly and flung Alistair to the ground, where he landed with a solid _thump_, and began to moan in pain.

"Alistair," spluttered Leliana, still unable to control her mirth. "You need to learn to swim, no?"

Alistair staggered upright and turned to glare at them. "Oh very funny," he spluttered, pushing the wet hair from his eyes as they laughed. "Hey let's play a number game-"

"You cannot count," chortled Morrigan. Alistair pushed on, ignoring the counter-jibe.

"What's one," he said, holding up the middle finger on his right hand, "Plus one?" He held up the middle finger on his left hand, jabbing them at his comrades.

With a last laugh, not least from Alistair himself they set off down the path. Further up the gorge, they had been forced to split up from Bodahn and Sandal. The bridge the two dwarves and their wagon had used collapsed shortly after they crossed it with the hounds. Arranging to meet up at the small hamlet on the banks of the lake beside the Tower, they had moved on down the gorge, trying to find somewhere where they could cross safely.

Leliana had, over the course of the journey, befriended the group, and had, as was her wont, made detailed notes on them within her skull. Draco, though grim of face and sharp of tongue, was gentle, charming and kind, but seemingly hiding behind a mask, which only slipped in battle, revealing a horrifying power and a disregard for his safety and a devotion to 'justice'. Sten, though equally as grim as Draco, was mild mannered, though taciturn, always willing to take guard or scouting duties. He and Draco had actually managed to strike some sort of friendship, if it could be called that, and they would walk for hours, discussing politics and war and philosophy. Alistair as the complete opposite of the two of them; he was sarcastic, jovial, friendly, the first to laugh and the last to finish. Morrigan…well, they didn't get on very well; whereas Draco said he was a 'believer' but one who has had his faith tested, and Sten was a follower of the Qun, they respected her beliefs and ideals, while Morrigan took every chance she could get to ridicule and mock her faith. It had started many an argument around the campfire or on the march. And Lysa…

Leliana and Lysa slipped ahead of the main group as they moved through the small wood that grew on the eastern bank of the tributary of the lake. Lysa kept on glancing sideways at Leliana, until eventually, as they scrambled over a rocky outcrop she asked; "What was your vision like?"

Leliana, taken by surprise at the question, nearly slipped of the outcrop and was only rescued by her superior reflexes. Pulling abreast Lysa, who was watching her intently, she sighed sadly.

_No doubt she will think me a lunatic when I finish. _But she began to speak anyway, hoping bitterly that Lysa would not think her a madwoman.

"I was asleep in the dorm one night a few months ago when I had a dream. I was standing in a field of green grass, surrounded by roses and lilies and flowers. The sun shone brightly, and the sound of birdsong filled the air. Then, as I stood in the field and watched the sky, a great cloud of darkness arouse behind me. It swarmed over the land, warping it, changing it. The flowers, whose petals had aimed at the heavens, lowered their heads and hung their petals down to the earth. There was the sound of locust. The insects swarmed over the land, eating everything they found. They slipped under the skin of the animals, and into the feathers of birds and ate them from the inside out, possessing their bodies and forcing them onwards like a great plague that swallowed the world." Leliana paused and looked at Lysa closely. She looked disturbed at the description but not as if she was talking to a madwoman. Encouraged by this relative success, Leliana continued.

"I began to run. I ran and ran and ran, but no matter how far I ran, or where I hid, the darkness caught up with me. Eventually, I was swallowed. I fell into a great depth of shadows and there was no bottom. I fell for what felt like an eternity."

The sun was blotted out by a dark cloud.

"Then, as I fell, I saw something float past me. It was a rose. A simple red rose. I plucked it from the air and suddenly, I hung still, floating in the midst of nothingness. Then a voice spoke, saying that there was still hope, that the Maker hasn't abandoned us yet, that there is still a chance of victory."

Lelian blushed and shrugged, glancing at Lysa. "That's it. You must think me a madwoman, no?" she laughed bitterly.

Lysa was silent for a minute, watching the ground intently. Leliana quickly wiped a tear from her eye while she wasn't looking. _She's just like everyone else_, she though sadly. _I'm a-_

"You saw the Blight?" asked Lysa quietly. Lelian did a double take.

"You…_believe _me!" she asked, stunned.

Lysa looked up and nodded slowly.

Leliana felt her face split into a wide grin and hugged her. Lysa, surprised, slowly returned the gesture, stroking the taller woman's shoulders.

Leliana broke off and kissed her cheek fondly. "You're a good friend, Lysa."

Lysa dark skin went darker as she blushed and Leliana laughed.

"Oh, ho ho, I seem to have discovered your little secret Mon Cherie," giggled Leliana, smirking wickedly.

Lysa, if it was possible blushed even harder.

Leliana glanced over Lysa, taking the younger girl's appearance in much greater detail.

"I... have I ever told you I really like the way you wear your hair?" It wasn't the best line in her _repertoire, but it was all she could think of at this time. __I've never seduced elves before, __she thought, panicked,__as she waited for Lysa's response. __What if I said the wrong-_

_"My hair?" asked Lysa cautiously, tugging at the amber locks._

_"Yes," continued Leliana, gaining confidence. "I mean, it's so soft and luxurious. How do you manage to keep it so?"_

_"It's rather a struggle really," Lysa replied, flattered._

_"Oh, come now!" giggled Leliana. "If you tell me your secret," she leant in and whispered in her ear, her soft breath sending a shiver down Lysa's body. "I'll tell you one of my secrets."_

_Lysa subconsciously licked her lips before replying. "I use…er, dog shampoo."_

_Leliana's jaw dropped. "I…I beg your pardon!"_

_Lysa shrugged apologetically, looking ashamed. "In Denerim, that was the only one the merchants let us buy," she said bitterly. "It wasn't even mabari, which is better, is stuff for those little mangy ones. 'If it is fit for mutts'", she continued sadly, "'It's fit for the likes of you knife-ears.'"_

_Leliana flushed angrily and tugged Lysa into another embrace, holding her close._

_"The first chance we get," she said, "I'll take you to a salon. A proper one! We'll do up your hair, your skin and then we'll go back to Denerim and show that pompous prick true beauty, no?"_

_Lysa giggled softly into her shoulder and hugged her back._

_Leliana spotted Draco watching them from the corner of her eye, his gaze enigmatic as he watched them. He nodded to her once, and melded back into the trees, following the path. Leliana smiled after him._

_The Tower of Magi_

_**Draco**_

_The Tower of Magi rose from the lake, a soaring edifice of white marble and alabaster, with windows of a thousand colours. It was a soaring white spear, capped with a golden tip, which seemed to flicker dully with some great magical power. The air seemed to hang heavily about them, weighed down by a barely discernible power. Turning over his shoulder, he saw Alistair and Morrigan. Alisatair was shivering, which was odd, for the afternoon was not yet old and the sun beat down heavily upon them as it gave a halo to the tower. He could only surmise that the former Templar felt the magic more keenly then himself. But it was Morrigan who really captured his attention. Her eyes were alight with a strange fire and her lips moved soundlessly, like a snake tasting the air. It seemed as if she could __taste __or __eat __the raw magical power that saturated the land. She seemed to have a greater presence now, almost as if she had swollen after feasting on the might of the sorceries that permeated the land. __I can literally __feel __her power__, he thought as he turned back to the Tower. __Her power must be increased tenfold by the magic here._

_They clambered down the steep slope to the bank, ignoring the curious glances of a few Templars and of the locals, before arriving at a small jetty, where an old man with grey hair was arguing with an imbecilic looking Templar. Nearby, Bodahn, Sandal and the dogs waited with the wagon. With a wave, Draco walked over and said, "Bodahn, glad to see you made it in one piece."_

_Bodahn laughed brightly. "Well, Ser, with hounds like yours, nothing would dare try to attack us."_

_"The Tower is scary," whispered Sandal darkly, cowering beside the wheel, glancing up at the Tower._

_"Ah yes…About the Tower Ser," said Bodahn nervously as the others gathered around them. __This will not be good__, Draco thought to himself. "There is a __tiny problem__." Bodahn held his forefinger and thumb close together. "The Templars have barred everyone form entry. They claim there's nothing wrong, but…" Bodahn shrugged and nodded to the Templar on the jetty._

_Draco nodded and said, "Remain here until we return."_

_"Of course, Ser. Good luck!"_

_"The chandelier is loose," put in Sandal. Draco looked at him curiously while Bodahn did a double take. He was about to say something, when something __bright __flickered in the young dwarf's eye. __He is special__._

_"I'll remember that," he murmured slowly, frowning deeply as they set off._

_Sandal smiled._

_The Templar sighed and waved his fist at the old man. "Kester, I am not about to repeat myself-"_

_"You better not, Carroll, you insolent pup! Every time you speak, it rains dribble!" retorted the old man. "When am I gonna get me boat back?"_

_"Once we have dealt with the er… dealt with the problem," responded Carroll, hesitantly._

_"And another thing; what is this trouble? I can't even go fishing now because of this trouble, an' food is scarce round here 'bout now. Will you give me back __Lizzie __when the stores run out, or when I drop dead?"_

_Growing tired of the incessant argument, and fearful of this new '__problem__', Draco stepped forward between the Templar and the old man._

_"'Ere, who the bloody 'ell are you?" exclaimed the old man, Kester, belligerently._

Draco dug around in his pack and pulled out one of the Treaties.

"I am Draco, of the Grey Wardens," he nodded back at his companions. "These are my friends," he noticed Morrigan and Sten shift at the word. "We are here to enlist the Circle against the Blight." He handed the parchment to Carroll.

Kester blinked in surprise, then rounded on the sceptical Templar and cried out, "Well then Carroll! Are you going to get the boat for him, or are you going to have to make me beat a new song into your skull?"

Morrigan snickered at the old mans fire.

The Templar snorted, his watery eyes fixed on Draco. "_You're _a Grey Warden? Oh, a Grey Warden treaty! So you're supposed to be one of those. Well, I've got some papers too! They say I'm the Queen of Antiva! What do you have to say to that?"

Leliana blinked as Draco ground his teeth dangerously. "I thought that the King was single at this moment…?" she muttered to no-one in particular.

"Besides," said Carroll, blushing furiously, and attempting to ignore the giggles of Leliana and Lysa.

"I've got my orders, see? And no one can enter the Tower."

Kester swore violently, a sentiment Draco shared._ This buffoon is costing us valuable time, _he thought. "What would it cost to convince you to row us across the lake to the Tower?" he sighed angrily.

Carroll blinked in surprise, then, taking in the words, leered at the women.

"Well…It does get lonely on guard out here," he mused, licking his lips surreptitiously. "If I were to have some company…"

Draco growled in anger at the Templar, who completely ignored him, focusing so intently on the women, that Draco was hard pressed not to eviscerate the fool. _If he even _dares_ to say it, _he thought angrily, his shoulders tensing.

"How about…if I take you lot over, you leave the little knife-ears behi-" Carroll didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. A long arrow with a barbed tip was suddenly a foot from his throat, Leliana gripping the bow so tightly, the wood moaned in protest.

"Go on," she said, her eyes shards of steel as the Templar's Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a ship on a storm wracked sea. Draco smirked at the Templar, revealing his teeth. He silently thanked Leliana. _Lysa needs a good girl like you._

"Or maybe…I am peckish," he hastily amended, stepping back hurriedly. Draco took the parchment back quickly before the moron dropped it in the water.

"Parshaara," boomed Sten, stepping forward and pulling a small bundle from his belt. "Here, munch on these if you like."

Carroll glanced nervously at the qunari before taking the bundle. Instantly the fool squealed with delight, his fear forgotten as he cried out, "Ooh, Cookies!"

As the man guzzled on them, Draco turned to look at Sten in surprise.

"I am content to part with them, if it saves us from this fool."

"Where'd you get those?"

Sten shrugged. "There was a child- a fat, slovenly thing- in the last village we passed. I relieved him of these confections. He didn't need more."

Draco spluttered for a moment as he looked at Sten. "You stole cookies from a _child_?"

"For his own good," said Sten simply.

Carroll licked his lips and belched, making Morrigan wrinkle her lip in disgust.

""Mmm, yummy. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours, yes? We can go across to the tower now, if you really want."

_Finally,_ thought Draco as Carroll, helped by a belligerent Kester, brought the boat around and they sailed towards the Tower. _Now we're getting somewhere._

_The First Floor_

As they climbed up the steps from the jetty at the towers base, Draco could instantly tell something was wrong. Templars and a few mages ran hither and thither like frightened birds, though the mages were almost all followed by two Templars each. Instinctively, they all shrank around Morrigan, shielding the witch from most of the glares sent their way. They reached the great doors, bound with steel in the shape of the circle of the four schools of magic, and pushed them open. The hall on the other side, though grand and wondrously built, did not hold his gaze for long. Instead it was drawn to the dozens of Templars that thronged the hall. There was the stench of blood and burned flesh. There came groans from the throats of the men and women as they were tended to. A tall, broad man with grey hair and beard with dark eyes was issuing orders to a Templar in much more ornate armour. He turned to them as they approached and frowned, his face twisting with displeasure. "Damn that boy Carroll," he said as they stood before him. "I told him not to allow anyone into the Tower. You should leave now," he said, more calmly. "It is perilous for you to remain here."

Alistair cleared his throat nervously. "Erm…Ser…"

"Alistair?" said the man in surprise, staring at Alistair in shock. "But, you're a Warden what…?"

Draco drew himself up to his full height, and now stood taller than the man. He drew out the Treaty once more and presented it to him saying, "I am Draco of the Grey Wardens. I have come to recruit the Circle."

The man looked down at the treaties, then swore darkly. "I am tired of the Grey Wardens ceaseless need for men to fight the darkspawn," he growled. Then he looked at them and sighed. "But it is their right."

A door that they had not noticed before, but seemingly led deeper into the Tower, suddenly shook violently and a huge bolt and bar were quickly lowered across it, joining several others. Draco turned to the man in confusion.

"What's-"

"Follow me," said the Templar, interrupting. He walked over to a small room in the corner of the hall, separated by a small latticework wall.

Once inside he turned to them. "I am Knight-Commander Greagoir, head of the Templar's of Fereldan." He leant his arm against the wall and pointed to the barred door with his other hand.

"You should know this; we have lost the Circle. Demons have arrived."

"By the Maker," exclaimed Leliana, clutching the medallion of the Chantry at her waist. Draco stiffened and felt the unease of the rest of his companions.

"How many?"

"Scores of demons, and more are coming, called by…an unknown enemy." Greagoir sounded bitter as he spoke. _No doubt he berates himself for allowing this to happen_.

"You shall find no aid here. The only mages we have, are those outside, and I…might be…" Greagoir leant his head in his arms and sighed, sadly and deeply. "I might have to have them killed…In case any harbour demons. And I don't know about those I have trapped inside. Though it has been three days since this began; I doubt many still live. Your Apostate friend might have difficulty dealing with them."

Morrigan shifted slightly.

"I have respect for the mages," he said. Draco frowned at him, before returning his gaze to the door. _Doubtless he feels guilty for abandoning the mages trapped inside and wants to alleviate it but without demoralising his subordinates._

"You would not have this problem," replied Sten, "If you cut the tongues of mages from their mouths like in Par Vollen."

Greagoir turned and nodded at Sten. "You qunari friend is right; I doubt this problem would have arisen in their lands."

"True."

"You said there is no chance of saving the Circle?" asked Draco, folding his arms and watching Greagoir intently.

"I have already sent for the Rite of Annulment from Denerim and it should be here within the next few days." Draco raised an eyebrow quizzically. "The Rite of Annulment grants the Knight-Commander the right to cleanse the Circle."

"_Cleanse_?" asked Draco, incredulously, starring at Greagoir wrathfully. "You're going to kill them all? Even those who didn't do anything?"

Greagoir sighed and rubbed his temples, glaring at the ground and avoiding Draco's livid gaze."It is regrettable that these most drastic actions must be considered. But," he looked back up and met Draco's fiery gaze with his stern one. "We will form a Circle anew upon the remains of the old."

"We _need _allies and we _need _the mages," growled Draco angrily, still glaring daggers at Greagoir. "If I go in and deal with the summoner, will you be satisfied?"

The others stared at him in shock. "_Satisfied_?" echoed Greagoir.

"If I kill all the abominations, all the demons and everything else that is a threat," Draco said striding from the room, the others following him hurriedly. "Will you leave the mages be?"

"Yes, of course," said Greagoir stomping after him. "But there are demons, abominations, blood mages and the Maker alone knows what else. Are you sure-"

"Yes," spat Draco drawing his swords. "Now, lift those bars and open the door before I cut it open."

Greagoir looked at him with a new respect. He turned and nodded to the guards. They glanced at each other, then unlocked the door and opened it.

"Know this; once you enter, I will lock the door. There will be no return, unless you find First Enchanter Irving. Should he be free of taint, tell him to say the password to the Harrowing Chambers at the door. Then I will open it. Or," he added as he watched the doorway. "Should he be dead and you finish your mission, knock eight times upon the door with a two second pause between knocks."

Draco nodded, memorising the code. "Alistair, you and Sten wait here."

"Warden?"

"If we die, they'll need your skill Sten and your Templar abilities Alistair. And besides, we can't have all the Grey Wardens dead now, can we?"

Alistair slowly nodded. "Good luck, guys!" he cried as they stepped through the threshold and the gate slammed shut behind them.

The halls beyond the gate were darker, the torches cold in their sconces. They slipped through the halls, weapons drawn and Morrigan's hands and staff glowing dully. Draco took the lead, Morrigan beside him, while Lysa and Leliana took up the rear. His eyes scanned the path ahead for threats as they moved on. Finally, they rounded a corner, and saw a horrible sight. Dozens of mages and Templar's lay across the floor, covered in slick blood and offal. Burnt and charred corpses were scattered about, while half-eaten bodies sat in congealing pool of blood. They all blanched and struggled to control the bellies. Moving carefully through the corpses, they came across a few pieces of paper, pointing to a wondrous weapon stored somewhere in the Tower. _Perhaps _if _we survive we might find it_.

Morrigan pushed a body with the butt of her staff. "There is strong magic here," she murmured, moving her hand and watching the air, as if examining something only she could see. "The whole building is saturated with it. The demons here are strong. Be on your guard."

"Maker preserve us," muttered Leliana, fearfully.

"'Tis not your Maker who will save us here, but skill."

Leliana did not reply.

They made their way onwards, discovering signs of battle and sorcery. Then, as they approached another hall, lit by a flickering blue light, they saw a mage, standing before a demon, flaming red, its claws drawn back to strike. The mage muttered a few commands and before the creature could move, it was frozen solid and shattered. Turning about and spotting them, Draco recognised the mage. Short white hair, soft dark eyes and a motherly face. "Wynne? Is that you?"

Wynne looked at him in surprise as they came closer, then her eyes narrowing; she lifted her staff and lightning gathered about the tip. "Stay back. If you come one step closer, I _will _strike you down."

Draco sheathed his swords in sign of peace and smiled at her.

"Draco? You survived, I see," she said calmly, but still did not lower her weapon.

"As did you, or you are a remarkably well preserved corpse," grinned Draco.

"Wynne?" three mages and two children stepped out of the shadows, looking at Draco and his friend in fear. Seeing Wynne's staff drawn, the mages rapidly drew their own, levelling them at the party.

Draco raised his hands in peace. _I need to convince her we are here to help before she turns us into soot marks on the floor._

"Wynne, we are here to help," he said calmly, looking into her eyes, imploring her to believe him.

"You were sent by Greagoir were you not?" she replied.

Draco nodded. "He has sent for the Rite of Annulment, but it has not yet arrived."  
Wynne, already pale and drawn, blanched even further. "Has he given up hope so soon?"

"He said it is three days since the doors were locked," put in Lysa, "And he was unsure whether any still lived."

"I see." Wynne was silent for a long moment, and then lowered her staff. The others, glancing at her, slowly followed suit.

"I…I do not blame him, but now there is little hope or survival," she rubbed her head sadly. "He will kill us all to make sure no abominations survive."

The two children cowered against the mages who embraced them comfortingly.

Draco watched them sadly. _I wonder what it is like_, he thought sadly, _To live your life forever in a cage?_

Girding his shoulders, he turned back to Wynne. "If we find the First Enchanter and bring him back alive, then Greagoir will refute the Rite. Or if we kill every last demon, abomination and blood mage. Will you help us?"

"What?" exclaimed Morrigan turning to him in shock. "You're going to help these creatures, who have not the strength to stand for themselves? 'Tis a foolish notion," she finished coldly, scowling at the circle mages.

Wynne frowned at her. "Are you so blind to the plight of your fellows, that you hate those who never had the same freedom you had?"

"I hate cowards."

Draco growled. Morrigan snapped back to him with a smirk.

"We haven't got the time for this. We need to move," he said. "Morrigan this may well have been you had fate been different. So please keep it civil."

Morrigan shrugged her shoulders and sneered. "If that is your command."

"If it was a command you wouldn't obey it," he responded, a dark smirk hanging about his lips. Morrigan snorted with laughter.

Wynne sighed and nodded. Turning to her apprentices, she spoke a few words to her fellows who nodded, crying softly. Then, she stood beside Draco and walked towards the far end of the hall.

Rather than being empty, the arch was filled with a soft blue light, forming a barrier of interwoven light. Draco looked at Wynne in interest.

"Did you erect this barrier?"

"Yes. It was taxing but it kept everything from approaching. If we kill everything on our way, the others should be safe. Be on your guard." So saying, she raised her palm and it glowed the colour of the sun.

"You are powerful," he muttered in admiration, "For an old woman."

Wynne smiled thinly at him and flicked her wrist. The barrier vanished with the sound of indrawn breath and they stepped forward.

The halls were silent as they advanced. On an impulse, Draco drew his family sword, holding it loosely at his hip, stalking forward slowly, reaching out with all his senses. Then, suddenly, as they circled about the central core of the tower, a pack of abominations leapt upon them. One through itself on Draco, knocking him to the paving and pinning him down. He looked into the face and beheld…

There was no face. There was no mouth, but still spittle and slim was thrown onto his face as the creature frothed and shook like a rabid animal. Its flesh was warped and twisted, the colour of mottled bruises, pulled over bulging and twisted muscles and bones. Two eyes stared out of the warped head, filled with…with…

Draco dug deep within himself and brought up the Rage. Feeling the familiar heat, he awoke his true strength. He writhed like a python, using his fists to pummel the abomination's sides with the force of hammers. The pitiful creature howled and yammered as Draco continued his assault, butting its head with his. Finally, hearing the war cries of his friends, he resorted to desperate measures. He opened his mouth and let out a bloodcurdling war cry, plunging his teeth into the abominations face. The sickly sweet taste of its magic fuelled blood, tasting like dirt and ashes mixed with mud and filth. He shook his head left and right, dragging the head left and right until there came the tell tale sound of a bone snapping, and the abomination went limp. Straining all his muscles, he heaved the creature off of him. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed his sword from where it had fallen and drew his other, and rushed to the defence of his companions. Morrigan and Wynne stood back to back, their staffs flashing with light of a million colours, sending bolts of sorcery into the pulsating masses of snarling and yammering flesh that assaulted them. Lysa and Leliana were also back to back, one firing into the advancing group while the other reloaded. Six of the dozen creatures were already dead, but they were tougher than almost everything Draco had fought before. _But that has never stopped me before!_

Sprinting forward, he brought both swords in a horizontal arc, aimed at the midriff of another of the monsters. The blades bit deep, cleaving into the flesh and through the muscle. The blades chewed through the body and exited out the other side of the former mage. He leapt back in surprise; rather than blood, fire erupted from the corpse in its place. He ploughed on, taking no heed. One turned and reached towards him, its fingers flickering with lightning. Flipping his left sword he held the sword backwards, point to the ground. He dodged to the right and swung the sword into its belly before hacking its back open with his Family Blade. But to his dark amusement it rose and attacked again, its entrails hanging from its gut. He swung his swords in dizzying patterns, taking of its arm, blinding an eye, before jumping and spinning in the air to carve it down diagonally from shoulder to hip in a fountain of fiery blood. Turning he saw the last of the, fall, its head impaled with an arrow, the shaft jutting halfway out of the back of its skull. Leliana grinned sickly, then staring behind Draco yelled out, "Behind-!"

Draco stabbed backwards and heard the satisfying sound of metal piercing bone. With a grin he looked over his shoulder to see the one he had duelled just a moment before.

"Take a bit of killing, eh? Let's see if this works!" and so, leaving his second sword lodged in its chest he jumped into the air and turned, hacking downwards. The sword entered the beasts skull, moved through its chest and out its armpit. Fire erupted from the ruined form and it slumped down, finally defeated.

Feeling the Berserker induced strength fade away, Draco slumped against the wall and let out a shaky breath. "That…" he said, jabbing his sword at the corpse, "Is what you can _become_!"

Wynne nodded grimly. "Such is the power of the demons."

"Draco!" cried Lysa, stepping over to him and cupping his chin. "What possessed you to eat its face?"

"Lack of ability to hit it with anything else!" he yelled in exasperation. Then he felt the burning. _Shit! The fire-blood!_

Feeling his face, he felt his entire jaw line was burned and bleeding.

"Wynne, heal him!" cried Leliana in fright. Wynne stepped forward and gently laid a hand over Draco's face. She smiled kindly at him and he shuddered at the soft feeling of the healing magic caressing his ruined skin. When she removed her hand, he grimaced and stood straight, tugging his second sword free. "Ready?" he asked, staring ahead grimly as he heard the tramp of approaching feet.

Morrigan howled with mad laughter. "'Tis playtime!"

Draco let loose his howl of rage and rushed to meet the enemy.

_Second Floor_

They had managed to carve a path to the stairs, killing abominations and undead before finally climbing the stairs to the second floor. The empty hall greeted them, their harsh breathing the only sound in the twilight hall. The moonlight filtered through the windows, throwing a pale corpse-light onto the room. They walked forward, blood running from Draco's armour and swords. Then, a soft sound came from the right, like the scuffing of a boot. _There were dozens of them downstairs, _he thought, his head tracking left and right, watching the shadows, _So why are there none here?_

Fleshy pods hung from the walls and blood gushed over the floor, the pods seeming to moan at their approach.

Draco's head whipped around so fast it was if it was wrenched to the side by a rope. From a small storage hall to the right came soft, calm breathing and a regular shuffling. Draco stalked forward slowly, swinging one leg in front of the other as he moved. Suddenly, a close shaven head poked out of the darkness.

"Wynne?" it said mildly, stepping forward.

"Owain?" exclaimed Wynne in surprise.

"What in the name of blue hellfire is he still doing here?" asked Draco in dumb shock as he looked at Owain, who watched them with a polite curiosity. It was insane to him that the mage would remain in such a dangerous place. _And so calmly too!_

"Owain is a Tranquil; he has no emotions, and so feels no fear," explained Wynne.

"The demons have come through here several times," said Owain, walking about and fiddling with boxes and containers. "I do not wish to die. I had intended to go to the bottom floor but there was a barrier. So I hid here. It is familiar."

_So, stripping one of their emotions does not remove all common sense._

"Oh, Owain! If you had called I would have lowered it," said Wynne guiltily.

Draco nodded to Lysa, "Keep an eye out." Lysa nodded and turned, nocking an arrow to the string as she watched the dark archway.

Owain sighed deeply. "I hope Niall succeeds. It would be pleasant to have the Tower return to its former self."

Draco turned back to Owain sharply as Morrigan asked, frowning herself, "What is this? Who is this Niall?"

Wynne shrugged. "A young mage. Very promising student. But," she shook her head, "Not powerful enough to challenge Uldred."

"Uldred?" Draco remembered a bald mage, polite, but cold and distant, and meeting him at the King's council before the battle of Ostagar.

"Yes," said Wynne, grimly. "He also managed to escape, alongside many other mages and I. He is the source of this nightmare."

"Yes," murmured Owain, slowly and deliberately, hefting up a small bundle of rods that crackled with electricity. "Niall and the others had collected the Litany of Adralla and were intending to use it to-"

"The Litany?" gasped Wynne in surprise, eyes narrowed.

Morrigan sighed loudly. "Well, you old bat, what is the Litany?"

"It is an enchanted ballad," said Leliana, surprising Draco, having expected Wynne to be the one to speak. "It was written by one of the most famous Bard's, Adralla. She wrote it alongside Templars and mages and clerics. It was enchanted so that, by reading it aloud, it would halt any blood magic within range. Very useful, no?"

Owain nodded blandly. "You have much to do. I shall remain here and make sure the storage room is presentable."

Draco watched Owain turn about, wondering how anyone could allow the Rite of Tranquility exist.

He nodded to the others and they moved off, silent as spectres, hunting through the passages and corridors of the second floor.

There were few abominations, and those they met were weaker than those below. Draco asked Wynne about this and she responded, healing Lysa's broken arm, "No doubt those below were meant to kill all the remaining templar's and capture as many mages as they could. So they were created to be stronger."

Draco nodded, then, seeing little danger ahead, asked, "How did all this start?" The fleshy pods seemed to pause in their moaning and shuddering to listen.

Wynne's hands halted in her ministrations and she sighed deeply, closing her eyes, as if trying to forget something horrible, or trying to remember it.

"When the battle went ill, the Grand Cleric ordered all the mages and templar's to fall back and retreat. Though it pained many of us, when we saw all was lost, we acted as a rear guard for the survivors. We managed to flee to the Tower, where we told the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander what happened." She drew in a deep breath and the healing lights reformed about her hand. "I told them of how the King was slain along with most of the Warden's by Loghain's betrayal. Uldred, who had been the first to arrive back, alongside his supporters, had nearly convinced the others to ally with Loghain, saying that he would grant us more freedom from the Chantry." She shook her head. "Then, a young mage entered the Harrowing chamber, where the council was being called. He walked up to Uldred, who was attempting to flee, but had been ordered by Irving to remain." She let out a long, shuddering breath, and her shoulders began to shake violently. Leliana rested a hand comfortingly on her shoulder, and Wynne began again. "The mage…told Uldred, 'everything is ready, First Enchanter'. Uldred thanked him and clapped his hands, saying, 'My dear fellow mages, a change in leadership is necessary'. Then…a group of blood mages rushed through the door of the chamber, attacking Uldred's enemies. As we struggled against this new threat, others from the council betrayed us as well. It was…horrible. The blood mages had the advantage of surprise and with their dark sorcery began to kill us. I saw many mages, strong and powerful, ripped in two like children by hands of shadow ripped from beyond the Veil. As we fell, they called our blood to them, powering even greater magic's. However, one mage, Neria Surana, called a thunderstorm from her hands, and used it to turn the tide, reducing a dozen mage to ash in an instant. With that breathing space," she continued, finishing the healing and rising, motioning them to continue and they walked through the halls. "The First Enchanter managed to dispel Uldred's sorcery long enough to order us to flee and get the templars. But when we reached the bottom of the stairs, we found that many templars and mages were already dead and the door was barred. So I rescued all those I could find and erected a barrier to prevent the demons from entering any further. And the rest you know," she finished.

_She has great power,_ thought Draco as he took the lead, hefting his swords, _She might be a good ally, _if _I can convince her to join us after this is finished._

Suddenly, he heard voices up ahead, soft and low, as if they were afraid of someone coming by and hearing them. Raising his hand, he signalled the others to slow down, and, keeping to the shadows, they slipped forward.

There were three mages, two men and a woman. By their talk, they were obviously supporters of Uldred.

"We need to find some gold, silver, anything!" said one, rummaging about in a pile of books and scrolls.

"What good will it do?" asked the woman, shaking visibly, hugging her arms and sitting on a chest. "There's no way out, we're trapped here and-"

"Quiet!" hissed the last one, glaring towards where Draco and the others were hidden. "I heard something!"

Then, the mage raised his staff, and a pale were-light drifted from it, and floating towards the archway, illuminated the party.

The mage yelled in alarm and twisting his staff sent a spike of ice straight at Leliana, however, the Bard was saved as Lysa's slender dagger shot out and cut the icicle down. Sprinting forward, Draco swung his swords round and cut the mages stave in twain with one sword, while the other impaled his gut, ripping him open. Kicking off the corpse he saw Morrigan hold the second still with sorcery, while the two rogues shot him down. The woman, seeing her companions fall in under a minute, fell to her knees in supplication.

She was crying silently as Draco drew near, his swords weeping blood. She raised her hands piteously and began to murmur in a quiet, terrified voice.

Looking down at her, Draco felt a surge of pity for the poor woman. A sudden understanding welled up within him; he saw faceless warriors watching her every step, dark and suspicious eyes always on her, and the words of the Chantry demining her to a life of solitude and suspicion.

_No wonder she wishes to escape the Circle,_ he thought sadly, _I would long ago have been driven insane._

"Please," she whispered as the others drew near, "Don't kill me."

"Why did you do this?" he asked softly, gesturing about the ruined tower.

She paled, but a new fire and resolve was awakened in her eyes as she spoke.

"All my life I have been trapped here, watched constantly for any sign of dissent. I once had a child with a templar I thought I loved, but he used me to find out about a Libertarian friend and had him killed as a Malificarium. The child was taken from me before I had even held him and I don't know whether he is alive or dead. I wanted my freedom, the freedom that had been denied by the Chantry." The word 'Chantry', as it escaped her lips wasn't a word, it was a curse.

Leliana shifted uneasily at her words, but Wynne stared down at the mage in obvious distaste. "You justify what you did here with that flawed ideal? I wish freedom, as do we all, but I would not stoop to such a level to achieve it."

The mage said nothing, but continued to look at Draco, awaiting his judgement.

"If I were to let you go," he said, slowly and carefully, "What would you do?"

The mage looked astounded, shocked at his words. She finally pulled herself back together and said hesitantly; "I…I would…perhaps flee to the Korcari Wilds or maybe join the…Chantry," she sighed the final word as if it pained her, "And try…to make amends."

"I say let her go," said Leliana, surprising him. "She deserves a chance at life and forgiveness."

"Leliana is right," Lysa added, watching the mage.

Morrigan smirked, but said nothing, while Wynne said, "Maybe, but there is great risk in letting her go."

_What would _I_ have done in her place?, _he thought.

"If I let you go," he spoke, "Will you help the rest of the mages fight the Blight?"

The mage was silent for a moment, her mouth hanging open in shock, then she nodded.

"Go downstairs and meet up with the group on this side of the door to the main hall," he continued, "Wait there till we return. Say nothing of your blood magic. We rescued you from an abomination."

Without another word he turned and stalked deeper into the Tower, followed by the others, hurrying in his shadow.

_The Fourth Floor_

Draco wiped the blood from his face and spat a globule of the crimson liquid from his mouth. They had managed to reach the fourth floor, below the Harrowing Chamber. It was now six hours since the infernal quest had started and the moon was now high in the night sky. They had managed to complete the ritual of the Reaching and the treasure spoken of would be available once they returned below, but for now that great weapon was beyond their reach. _I only hope that we can defeat Uldred without needing it._

He looked back at the others. The enchanted templar lay on his side, Wynne healing him. He was conscious and attempting to avoid speaking of what the desire demon had offered him. Though doubtless, by his sad expression and red-rimmed eyes, the 'family' he had gained from the demon had been greatly desired. Wynne gently patted his cheek and stood up. Lysa and Leliana stood by the door while Morrigan stood nearby, frowning deeply, her arms folded and her staff gripped tightly. As he drew near her, she turned to him and hissed, "There is a powerful demon ahead. More powerful than anything we have face thus far. 'Tis going to be a great struggle."

Draco swore quietly. "When is it ever bloody not?"

Morrigan smirked.

The door was ajar as they neared it. From within came the sound of soft, rattling breath. Draco pushed it open.

The room was dominated by a strange astronomical apparatus; a huge sextant attached to a telescope with scores of dials and cogs, with dozens of orbs of many colours attached to limbs of metal, all spinning in a majestic spiral about the central dome. But that majesty was lost to Draco's eyes. Beside the machine lay a mage, dead or asleep he could not tell, and above him loomed a grotesque abomination. It was taller and broader than any they had yet met and was the equal of Sten in build and height, with pale grey skin rather than the filthy muck coloured skin of the other abominations. Two lidless eyes of red and green flame turned to examine the newcomers with a bored expression.

"Ah yes…more guests to see to." Its voice was warm and sickly as hot treacle and made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.

"But I am so…very…_tired_." As it spoke, Draco felt his knees began to bend and buckle, as if he was exhausted.

"Do you not wish a rest? You deserve a little peace surely?" As it continued to speak, Draco slumped even further.

"Hold…firm," murmured Wynne, slumping to her knees. "It is trying to…"

"Back from me, demon," hissed Morrigan, but she too fell to the floor.

Leliana and Lysa tried to speak, then they too fell to the ground, both murmuring, "Stop…him…Draco."

Draco lifted his sword, then…

"_You…deserve…a…rest._"


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER Six: Dreams and Nightmares**

**Lysa**

Lysa awoke, fresh and energised in her bed. Her wife lay beside her, cuddling her close to her breast.

"Good morning, mon amour," said Leliana, smiling sweetly, stroking her hair and nuzzling her cheek.

"L-Leliana?" whispered Lysa in confusion.

Leliana laughed. It was a soft, sweet sound. "Who else did you expect, silly?" she giggled tweaking Lysa's nipple. Lysa hissed in pleasure and surprise. Leliana giggled again and stood up, revealing herself in all her naked glory. Lysa took this opportunity to look about their bedroom. Tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, while along the walls were bookcases containing hundreds of tomes. Expensive rugs lay on the floor and precious ornaments were littered about the place as well as-

Lysa blushed and looked away.

"Well," said Leliana, smirking as she dressed in a long red silk gown, "Are you going to come to your council, my Arl?"

_Arl! What- Oh yes, I'm Arl of Denerim_, Lysa thought hazily, standing and dressing in her long blue and white dress.

As she left the room with Leliana, they slipped their arms together and walked through the palace, the servants and guards bowing respectfully as they passed.

Leliana gave Lysa a quick peck on the cheek before they entered the council chambers. Once inside Lysa saw the usual crowd; Shianni, Sorris, Valena and Valendrian as well as many human nobles.

Shianni had long since recovered from the attack three years ago and was now expecting a child from her husband, a lesser human noble from the outskirts of Denerim, while Sorris and Valena were expecting the second child in a few months. She smiled at them and they smiled and bowed back. She was still unused to the new authority given to her by the crown even though it was three years ago after he helped permanently destroy the darkspawn.

Sitting in her throne, a page passed her a report. She smiled; thanking him, then opened it and began to read-

She blinked.

_I _can't _read._

She looked up at everyone. Slowly, their faces changed. Smiles remained, but teeth became fangs, lips drew back in snarls and evil sneers, flesh warped to shadow. The walls shook and faded like dust in the wind, revealing a nightmare vista of barren wastelands and empty plains. She turned to Leliana in fright, and felt her heart stop in terror. Leliana's face had sloughed back to reveal purple-pink skin and curling horns and her dress melted away like vapour, revealing a beautiful naked body, but was yet still hideous. A desire demon.

The demon tittered in its cold, melodious voice. "Oh dear," it hissed, smiling, "This one needs to sleep again."

It gripped her jaw with iron talons and began to kiss her, drawing out her tongue, before throwing its own forked one into Lysa's mouth. The demon tasted of wine and salt and honey and Lysa felt her will being sucked away…

Lysa snapped awake. This was not Leliana, this was a demon. She remembered Leliana's open smile and gentle voice. This was an insult to her, a false and twisted copy.

_Fight, Lysa_, she thought as the demons hand drifted down her body, _FIGHT!_

Her dress sloughed away, revealing the armour she had worn in the Tower and drew her knife, plunging it into the demons breast. It shrieked in pain and recoiled, holding its chest as golden blood poured out. As Lysa stepped forward, it morphed back to Leliana, holding up her hand pleadingly.

"Lysa, please," she sobbed, tears coursing down her face, her eyes pleading. "Stop, it's me, it's me. Please stop, please Lysa." She fell to the floor and started to choke. Lysa hesitated.

"Leiana?" she whispered, dropping the dagger.

Leliana looked up hopefully. "Leliana!" yelled Lysa running over to her and hugging her close.

"I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"Shh, it's alright," said Leliana, embracing her in return. "_Sleep_."

Then the demon threw her off and leapt on her, choking her. Lysa, berating herself tried to fight back. She saw stars drift in front of her eyes, and the demon loosened its hold and began to kiss her, trying to drag her back into the dream. Lysa, struggling against the soft seduction, grabbed her knife in her throes.

Before the demon could defend herself Lysa slit her throat. The demon howled and faded into oblivion as Lysa returned to her feet. As it faded a small pedestal rose where it fell. Atop it held a small, shallow dish, filled with a liquid that shined like moonlight.

Lysa looked about the plain, but she was the only thing there. She looked up.

The sky was a faded greenish-yellow. Floating citadels and castles drifted by. Upside down continents sailed past while the sound of a distant heartbeat echoed.

_I'm _in _the Fade! And I'm awake! But only mages can do that. How…_

She grabbed her head and moaned in pain.

_That fucking demon…It dragged me here._

A horrible thought entered her mind.

_If he dragged _me _here, did he bring the others?_

She looked at the font again, seeing the different runes. Seeing only one shone out, she reached out, hesitated a moment, then touched it.

Nothing happened.

She looked up and started in surprise. A thin, dark haired man with a droll expression. He watched her scramble back a few paces, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow.

"Are you real?" asked the man slowly.

Lysa, suddenly remembering that mages remained awake in the Fade, lowered her bow.

"Yes, I'm Lysa Tabris, a Grey Warden, here to kill Uldred."

"I am Niall, mage of the Circle," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Lysa gasped, "You have the Litany of Adralla?"

The man looked at her as if she had gone mad.

"Yes and no," he said slowly. "Yes, on my body, no, not here. Here, we will die. I never thought I'd die like this, in this cold, forsaken place._ Alone._"

Lysa looked around. She was surrounded on all sides by ruins, like an ancient fort.

"You came here through a Fade Pedestal," explained Niall, "They link all the locations in Sloth's domain. Sloth is the demon that rules here. He is strong and powerful, powerful enough to have desire demons in his thrall."

Lysa looked at him in confusion. "Demons have a hierarchy; Hunger, Rage, Sloth, Desire, Pride. He is very ancient. I don't think that there is anyone in this section of the Fade who could match him."

Lysa nodded slowly. It all began to make sense. _He's Uldred's watchdog_, she realised, _He makes sure no one gets close to Uldred while he warps the mages!_

"How did you get here?" she asked.

Niall laughed bitterly. "The same way you did. Once Neria had thrown the storm and Irving told us to run, I and a few friends managed to get to the storeroom. There we managed to get the Litany and fought our way back up here." His eyes watered slightly and he shook his head. "My friends… all died on the way. When I came to Sloth, there was no-one to help."

Lysa felt her stomach sink. "How do we get out of here?"

"Kill Sloth."

"How?"

Niall shrugged. "There are five demons that block the path to Sloth. Kill them on each of their Isles, and you can get to him. Though it will be no easy task. These demons will be strong. You will have to use all your willpower to defeat them."

"Willpower?"

"Yes. Your arms and armour are not real. There are extensions of your will and memory of what you were wearing at the time you entered here. If you concentrate hard enough you can do anything here."

Lysa nodded slowly, looking back at the pedestal. "There were four others with me," she started to say when Niall interrupted her.

"They are also in Dreams on separate Isles," he pointed at the liquid at the runes on the edges. "Kill the demons guarding Sloth and you will be able to enter and save them."

_So they are safe, for now. But I have to save them._

She looked up at Niall. "Will you help me?"

Niall shook his head. "No; I cannot leave this Isle till Sloth is dead. He has placed wards on me because if I escape from this Isle, I can return straight to my body. The Litany acts as a link," he explained at her confused exclamation. "Its blood magic repelling properties would allow me to leave here immediately."

Lysa nodded grimly and squared her shoulders.

She reached out and pushed the first rune.

_Lysa looked about her in her mouse form. _This might be useful_, she thought thanking the dead dreamer._

_Lysa shivered as she looked at her spirit form. _Well, at least I have magic.

_The flaming woman incinerated the last of the darkspawn and sighed. It was too damn hot._

_The golem cracked Uthkiel the Crushers head between its fists. _Damn ogres_._

Niall looked at her oddly. "You…killed all the demons?"

"Yes," snorted Lysa.

Niall nodded. "Rescue your friends. You will need them against Sloth."

_The Wilds_

Lysa looked up at Flemeth's hut. _Morrigan's dream_, she thought as she approached the marshland atop the floating hill. Morrigan and Flemeth stood outside arguing.

"Oh be quiet you foolish demon!" spat Morrigan angrily. "Where are my companions, you wretched spawn?"

"Ha, a fine way to speak to your mother girl," said Flemeth. "And after saving you, is this the thanks I get? Do you not love-?"

"Ah, Lysa," said Morrigan, ignoring the demon. "You escaped your dream, I see."

Lysa blinked. "How did you…?"

"Mage."

Lysa nodded and jabbed a finger at Flemeth. "How come you haven't escaped yet? All you have to do is kill her."

Morrigan sighed in relief. "_Finally. _Now, I know how to do it."

Flemeth shrieked in pain as Morrigan swept her staff around and struck her head. Flemeth staggered back, but before Lysa or Morrigan could strike, she had hurled an orb of fire at Morrigan. She dispelled it quickly, then muttered something. Flemeth yelled in pain as her legs were covered in ice, freezing her in place with her arms locked in the ice at her side. Morrigan stepped forward and thrust out a hand, sending a ripple through the air. Flemeth's torso was torn from the ice in an explosion of spectral blood that faded in a heartbeat.

Morrigan grinned at Lysa. "Now shall we-Wait what, oh no I refuse-"

She vanished in a flash of emerald and blue fire leaving Lysa walking back to the Pedestal.

_The Dead_

Lysa found Wynne surrounded by the bodies of children and young mages. Wynne looked up from the carnage, and glared at her accusingly. "Lysa. Where were you when this happened?"

Lysa opened her mouth to explain, but Wynne overrode her. "I trusted you. Called you friend. But where were you when the children were being massacred?"

Lysa knelt beside her. _I am sorry Wynne, but this is not the time._

"Wynne," said Lysa gently, taking the old woman's hand. "It's not real. Come with me. It's not real. Trust me."

Wynne looked at her in confusion and anger, but did not take back her hand.

"Your blatant disregard of the dead is disgraceful…But you…Maybe I should…"

A soft, voice spoke up. "Pwease Wynne. Don't leave weave us." The child was torn in two but still it crawled towards her, dragging its guts behind it.

"Holy Maker! Back creatures!" cried Wynne standing and raising her staff. White fire erupted from it, spreading out from the butt placed firmly in the ground, burning the demons into nothingness.

"They were…Demons…You are a good friend Lysa," said Wynne gently, smiling at Lysa warmly. "Now go and get the others…oh not again."

_The Chantry_

Lysa walked towards the altar, keeping an eye out for Draco or Leliana. It was Leliana's dream. She saw her kneeling before the altar in her lay sisters uniform and murmuring the Chant. Beside her, stood a Revered Mother. The demon smiled at Lysa warmly, then as she drew near, readying her bow, she raised a hand. "Please my child, do not disturb Leliana; she is at prayers."

"Revered Mother?" asked Leliana, standing and rising. She saw Lysa and smiled politely. "Hello. May I help you?"

_I'm going to have to be gentle here._

"Leliana," she said sadly. "Don't you recognise me?"

Leliana frowned. "I…no…I am sorry, I don't think so."

"Perhaps this is someone from your previous life Leliana," put in the demon. Lysa sent it a glare. _What is it doing?_

Leliana meanwhile had stiffened and her face was now twisted in grim anger. "Did she send you?" she hissed.

"Who?" replied Lysa, confused.

"I…no…she isn't Revered Mother," said Leliana, sagging slightly. "Maybe I ought to-"

"Leliana, please trust me," said Lysa. She was finding it difficult to breath. _Doesn't she know me? Is the dream so strong she can't recognise me?_

"Your vision," Lysa exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "The Maker has a duty for you don't you remember?"

The Revered Mother scoffed and snorted, "Leliana, I told you; do not spread about this foolish dream about!"

Leliana whipped about to face her. "Wait…No. No. You're not the Revered Mother! She believed me!"

The demon, exposed, hissed and transformed. The cyclopean shade hissed down at the terrified Leliana, cowering on the floor, "Do not mock your superiors!"

It drew back a huge talon when Lysa, nocking an arrow to the string, fired it into the purple eye. It sunk into the orb and with a sickening crunch, erupted out the back of its head. It tottered for a moment, and then faded away. Leliana gasped and heaved. Lysa gently took her hand. "Leliana…"

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed her cheek. "I…Wait where are you-"

Lysa stood up as she vanished. _Draco._

_A Secret_

Lysa blinked in surprise. She was in a wood, surrounded by tall pines and oaks. Ahead was a large hill, atop which sat a great log house with a wooden statue of a dragon by the great doors. As she walked towards she saw the door was carven with ancient runes and patterns, rough and crude. On the left door, a dragon flew in a stormy sky above a sea, while a boat sailed under it, a warrior bearing a sword pointing to the heavens, while below that panel was the warrior was tracking the dragon in the mountains. Upon the right door, the first panel showed the warrior battling the dragon atop the mountains in a storm. Below, the warrior was lying dead atop the dead dragon on his ship, which burned about him.

She shivered and pushed the door open. Inside, the floor was covered in furs and furniture. Hunting trophies were on the wall, while a great fireplace sat in the east wall, filled with a great roiling fire. Nearby in a large chair padded with bear fur sat two people. One was Draco, his arm around the other…

_He's sitting with a woman!_ She had golden hair, pulled into two buns at the back of head, with blue eyes and a cold beauty. But her eyes and smile were warm, and it pained Lysa to think of what she must do. Draco turned to the doorway and smiled at her brightly. _He looks so…_

"Lysa! You should have sent word you were coming!" he said standing. "How is Leliana?"

Lysa blinked in surprise and he sighed angrily, folding his arms and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Don't tell me you've had _another _fight."

"No," Lysa shook her head, carefully watching the demon behind Draco, awaiting her next move.

"Draco, you need to listen to me carefully," she hissed shortly, "What are you doing here?"

Draco frowned and nodded slowly, watching her darkly.

"I'm taking a break from helping my brother rebuild Highever. I'm here with Anora for a few days."

Lysa sighed angrily. "What about Howe?"

Draco frowned and 'Anora' stepped forward, taking Draco's arm gently. "What is this, my dear?"

"Lysa," said Draco kindly, watching her worriedly, "I killed Howe when we stopped the Blight six years ago."

_Time for Plan B._

"Wake up, Draco. This is a dream. Remember," she persevered as something flickered in his eyes, like a dragon unfurling its wings. "Your brother is dead."

Draco suddenly grabbed his head, letting out a long rattling breath.

"Your family is dead. You are all alone. Howe is alive. Don't you want _revenge_?"

Draco looked at her and his eyes were filled with anger. She grinned evilly at 'Anora'.

_Now we're talking._

Draco howled with rage and grabbing a sword from the wall, he turned and the demon revealed itself, turning into an abomination replica. Snarling, Draco cut it down with a single blow so furious, that the sword snapped.

He spat at the dissolving corpse and whispered, "Anora…that wasn't even a copy of her shadow." He turned to look at her and smiled, his eyes still filled with fire, wide and angry. As he vanished he laughed. "Now let us show that worm how Wardens give battle!"

_Sloth_

Lysa stepped out of the dark portal, her bow drawn and her eyes filled with determination, her mouth a grim dark line. Sloth stood in the middle of the area, surrounded by lyrium veins and overlooking the fade. He was in the form of an arcane horror, dressed in a robe of purple and gold. He watched her approach calmly, his empty eye sockets glaring at her.

"Well, well," he drawled as she drew near. "What do we have here? A rebellious minion? An escaped slave?" He laughed darkly. "My, my, but you do have some gall!"

He sighed deeply and yawned. "But _playtime_ is over. You all need to go back now."

There came the crackle of power from behind Lysa. She turned to look and the demon leant to the side to look around her.

Leliana, Draco, Morrigan and Wynne stood behind her.

"You tried to keep us apart; you led us apart from each other because you fear us. Don't you?" Leliana demanded her own bow drawn.

"You made a dangerous enemy, demon, by toying with my mind." Morrigan readied her staff.

"You will not hold us demon! We found each other in this place, and you cannot stand against us!" cried Wynne, filled with wroth.

"If you go back quietly, I'll do better this time. I'll make you much, much happier," murmured Sloth, still confident.

"I'll make my own happiness, thanks very much," said Lysa stepping back and settling into her battle stance.

Draco growled as he drew his swords. "_Nobody_ fucks with my mind, demon, and no-one mocks _her_."

Lysa smirked. _Whoever you are Anora, you've a good man in him._

The demon sighed sadly, shaking his head ruefully. "Can't you think of anyone but yourselves? I am hurt, so very, very hurt."

"Sorry, but I'd rather just be rid of evil right now," Lysa deadpanned, aiming for Sloth's chest.

"You wish to battle me? You will learn to bow to your betters mortal!"

Sloth morphed, transforming into a huge ogre with a blood thirsty roar.

Draco rushed past, a blur of speed and his swords flashing like lightning. He hacked at the demon, drawing shadowy blood. Sloth blocked the blows easily, but with his hands full dealing with Draco, the arrows of Leliana and Lysa found their marks biting into the thick skin. Morrigan began charging a powerful spell, black and green light forming about her hands and staff. Wynne began to hex and strike the demon with sorcery.

Under these withering blows, Sloth had no choice but to recoil from the attacks, leaving him open to Draco's assault. Sliding under his legs, Draco hacked his thighs, bringing Sloth to his knees. But before the final blow could be struck, Sloth transformed again, this time taking the form of a rage demon. He slithered, fast as an adder to Wynne, knocking her down and slicing her stomach. Before he could do worse, Leliana and Lysa were upon him with daggers, Lysa attacking with sheer speed while Leliana elegantly danced about Sloth, cutting him in a dozen places. Draco, unleashing his full Rage, rushed forward and took of Sloth's right arm, spinning about as he passed the demon to hack at his left.

Sloth screeched in rage and recoiled, shadows wrapping him in a cocoon and changed.

Now an abomination, he cast hexes and spells, holding Lysa and Lelian still, but leaving himself open to the scything blow of Draco's swords.

Sloth dropped back and using his hands like daggers, blocked Draco's blades before counter-attacking. They duelled back and forth, Draco holding a strong advantage, but Sloth able to hex him as they duelled. Lysa feeling the spell end picked up her bow and, flanking Sloth, took aim, hitting his shoulder, granting Draco the opening to impale the demon on both swords.

Sloth hissed and formed into a dank smog, the shade glaring at Draco, drawing it's ghostly hands back to strike. Wynne, now recovered, shot the demon with a blast of silver light, flinging the demon away.

Abomination and shade were no match for the combined might of the companions. Finally, with a hateful curse, he changed back into the form of an arcane horror, shaking with anger.

"I grow tired of this! Face me and DIE!"

He drew back his hands to strike when-

Morrigan, having spent the entire battle charging her spell, called out, "In heaven's name, stand aside!"

Without a question, they all leapt aside and saw…

A tiny orb of red and green, no more than an inch in diameter hanging in her right hand, her staff on her back. Her left hand was holding her right wrist, as if to hold the orb still.

That's _her attack?_

Sloth seemed to have the same opinion, for he rushed forward and lunged at her, claws outstretched.

Morrigan leant back, away from the attack and turning her head away punched the spell forward into Sloth's chest.

Sloth hung still in midair a moment. Then…

Lysa gasped in awe as he turned into a million particles of light. Without a sound, they dissipated, vanishing into the air. Morrigan, glanced forward and smirked evilly. Dusting off her hands she laughed, a long, dark, cold laugh. She looked and sounded like a frightful goddess of war.

Standing, they looked at one another and smiled. "It's over," smiled Lysa.

Draco leant heavily on his swords, grinning sickly.

"How…?" murmured Wynne, gazing at the witch. Morrigan smiled and clapped her hands together.

"There are many forms of magic in the world, old woman; more than what they teach you at the Circle," she scoffed.

Leliana smiled at Lysa. "Well, what was your dream?"

Lysa blushed deeply and muttered, "I'll tell you at camp."

Leliana smirked, but was silent.

Lysa looked up as a soft voice came from the other side of the lair, by the cliff. "You defeated the demon? I never thought you would free yourself…to free us all."

It was Niall. He stood there, looking sadly at them. "When you get back, take the Litany from my…body. It will protect you against the worst of the blood magic."

"_Body_? Niall, what are you…?" asked Lysa worriedly as they walked towards him.

"You will all be fine," he said calmly. "It will have been a simple afternoon's nap for you. I was taken on the first day of this…_nightmare_. My body is wasted and broken. I will soon be gone. I was only held here by the demon's power."

Wynne sobbed slightly. "Niall, I…"

"Do not worry Wynne. I was not meant to save the Circle. I am dying."

Draco bowed his head and said, with a respect Lysa had not heard from him since Duncan. "Thank you, Niall, for everything."

"I have done little. They say you return to the Maker when you die. And that is not such a terrible thing. My only regret is that I could not save the Circle. But you can," he said, pointing to them.

"My mother," he continued slowly, his breathing becoming more laboured, "Always said, before I was taken to the Circle, that I was destined to be a hero. I hope I have not…"

Draco stepped forward as Niall fell, catching him and lowering him to the floor. "You haven't disappointed her. She would be very proud."

Niall smiled slowly. "Take the Litany, and defeat Uldred. Goodbye." As the light took them, he whispered, "My friends."

_The Real World_

Lysa awoke, lying beside Leliana. Draco stood a little way off, gently taking something from Niall's clenched fist. He turned and looked through a nearby window.

"Shit," he cursed. As the other stood they saw why; _sunlight _streamed through the window, not moonlight.

"We have slept through the night! Hurry, the Rite will be here soon!" he cried and with that they rushed onwards, streaking towards the stairs.

_You sacrifice will not be in vain Niall, _thought Lysa grimly, _I promise you!_


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER Seven: Awake and Alive**

**Draco**

_Damn Lysa, _he thought, as he leapt the stairs two at a time as they ran towards the exit to the Harrowing Chamber. _I need to convince her to keep quiet about what she saw. But for now…_

The stairs turned a corner and suddenly ended, leading into a hall filled with a soft violet light. Instinct and training kicking in, Draco lifted his swords in a defensive criss-cross over his chest. The hall was empty and devoid of threats, the only things filling the hall were bookcases and a few patches of blood. The fey light came from a huge beam of light that spread from the floor to the ceiling near the last flight of steps to the door. Inside the light a figure cowered, its hands pressed together and its head bowed.

Draco sheathed his swords and walked over to the huddled figure. He was a templar, with short blonde-brown hair and a small beard. The soft footfalls of Draco led him to look up. The templar's eyes were filled with despair, and yet they were strong, as if he had lost all hope in life, but still fought to live. Upon seeing them, the templar began to speak. "This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong…"

"The boy is exhausted," said Wynne, walking up to the cage, and holding her hand a mere inch from its shinning surface. "And this cage…" she shook her head in amazement. "I have never seen anything like it." She looked down at the templar. "Rest easy…help is here," she murmured gently.

The templar groaned, in pain or exhaustion it was hard to tell, and ground out, "Enough visions! If _anything _in you is human…kill me now and _stop this game_!"

Morrigan whispered in Draco's ear. "The trap is made of some demon power; it assaults his mind, till it breaks and twists him to its will. T'will not be long till he has nothing left."

Draco nodded and turned back to the templar, who spat out the words. "You broke the others, but I will stay strong. For my sake…for theirs. Filthy blood mages…trying to get into my mind…I will not break. I'd rather die!"

_We must hurry before…whatever this is, breaks him._

Draco knelt down, so that he was eye to eye with the templar. The templar matched his gaze for a heartbeat, then looked away, seemingly unable to hold Draco's piercing gaze for long.

"Calm down. You're not going to die-"

Draco was going to say more, but the templar rose up and, with a furious glare yelled at the top of his lungs; "I will not listen to anything you say! No begone!"

He blinked owlishly at them, then, seeing that they still remained, he fell back from them, his face stricken. "Still here? But…that always worked before. I close my eyes, and when I open them, you are still here when I open them."

Morrigan snorted in anger, her brows furrowed at the templar.

"We're real," said Draco, rising to his feet and gazing coolly at the templar. "We're here to help."

The templar stepped towards them, hesitantly, a cautious hope in his eyes. "Do not blame me for doubting. The visions…the images…so real…"

He took a long steadying breath and continued quickly, as if fearing that they would be interrupted. "Did Greagoir send you? How…how did you get here?"

"I'm a Grey Warden, here to save the circle."

The templar, suddenly, snarled. "Good. Kill Uldred…_Kill them all for what they've done!_"

Draco blinked in surprise and he felt Wynne stiffen beside him. _What is he going on about?_

"They caged us like animals. They looked for ways to break us. I'm the only one left. They turned some into…_monsters_…and…there was nothing I could do to stop it!"

_This is getting us nowhere._

"Where are Irving and the other mages?" he asked brusquely.

"What others? What are you talking about?"

Wynne stepped forward and spoke hurriedly. "Irving and all the others who fought Uldred. Where are they?"

The templar stepped away in fright again, turning to point at the stairs and the door. "They are in the Harrowing chamber. The sounds coming from there…Oh, Maker," he whimpered and hid his face.

Wynne pulled Draco's arm. "We must hurry. They are in grave danger, I am sure of it."

"You can't save them. You don't know what they've become."

Draco looked hard at the templar.

"I don't understand; what are you afraid of?" asked Lysa, turning to stare at the door.

"They have been surrounded by b-blood mages, whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts."

Wynne turned to them all desperately. "He has suffered pain and anguish like few have had to endure. That and his lust for revenge have clouded his judgement-"

"Do _not _presume to judge me, mage!" the man spat. Wynne recoiled in surprise. "I am thinking clearly-For perhaps the first time in my life!"

Draco scowled. "I am going to save everyone who can possibly be saved."

"Are you really saving anyone by taking this risk?" countered the templar, angrily jabbing a finger at them. "To ensure this horror is ended, to guarantee that no blood mage or abomination survives, you must kill everyone up there."

Draco slowly turned to look at the door. It seemed to stare back at him, like a malevolent toad, exuding an aura of evil and menace.

_Whatever it hides, _he thought, stepping towards it and drawing his right sword, _Will be strong._

The templar followed him and whispered in trepidation, "You're…You're going up there? To kill them?" he added, hopefully.

He felt the stares of the others on his back, awaiting his answer. He could almost _feel _the desperation and dread oozing from Wynne as she watched him.

He let out a long, deep breath and shook his head. "No," he said, loudly and clearly, "No, I won't."

The templar hissed in surprise. "You would risk letting blood mages and demons escape and survive? You're _mercy_ could kill _hundreds _for want for a _few_!"

Draco snorted derisively. "So be it."

The templar scowled at him as he left. "Maker protect you. I hope your compassion does not doom us all." He knelt again and began to pray.

"I know you are angry-" started Wynne.

"Leave him," commanded Draco. "His anger won't be soothed by honeyed words or pleading."

_The Harrowing Chamber_

A malevolent light filled the hall, emerging from sconces of flickering dark fire. Stained glass windows filtered the sunlight through in a hundred different colours, but they were muted by some alien presence. Statues of templars and Andraste were placed at the eight corners of the compass; watching over the mages even in here. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, filled with candles that burned brightly, like stars. Beneath it stood two abominations and a mage. They had their backs to them, but Draco instantly knew who the mage was. _Uldred_.

Beyond them, he could see a dozen or so mages, all bound by rope, but not a physical one; the bonds were made of violet light and seemed to draw all of the colour around them into themselves.

Draco stepped forward, the others close behind, but they all pulled up short, hearts in their mouths when they heard a blood chilling shriek.

A young mage hung limply in the air between the two abominations, from whose hands a soft light emanated, but whenever the light touched the mage, he shrieked in agony. Lightning arced about them in a prism of energy, and every time it moved, the mage contorted in pain. Uldred reached out and cupped the mages cheek, and in a voice as smooth as well oiled leather, as cold as ice and as hypnotising as the crash of the waves, he said, "Do you accept the gift I offer?"

There came of soft whimper of affirmation.

_Maker. This can't be…_

The abominations threw the mage to the floor and they with Uldred drew back the hands, and struck forwards.

An evil white light issued from their claw like hands, enveloping the mage. He let out a long tortured scream of agony, and was silent suddenly. He glowed with the intensity of the sun and his body warped and changed. His muscles bulged and twisted, his skin mottled like a withered apple. His face melted and ran like molten wax, covering his nose and mouth. White fire and lightning rose from his body and writhed like snakes.

Finally, the light died and the abomination rose.

Uldred nodded once and turned to them. Draco started. _His eyes…_

Uldred nodded at them and Draco, pulling himself together, stalked forwards.

"Ah...look at what we have here. An intruder. I bid you welcome." He bowed low and smiled coldly. "Care to join us in our…" he looked away at the unchanged mages and looked back at them, smiling widely, "_Revels_?"

Draco slid into his battle stance and the others readied their weapons.

"I take it you are Uldred," said Draco, levelling his sword at the man.

"Oh, very observant. I'm actually quite impressed you're still alive." He looked over their shoulders and towards the door. "Unfortunately, that must mean you killed my servants. Ah, well, they are probably better off dying in the service of their betters than living with the terrible burden of independence ."

Draco snorted and smiled darkly. "Well, you'll be ordering them about in hell in a few minutes."

"We shall see," Uldred replied mildly.

"Why are you doing this? What are you hoping to achieve?" hissed Lysa angrily, aiming for his head.

Uldred snorted derisively. "A mage is but a larval form of something even greater! Your Chantry vilifies us, calls us _abominations_ when we have truly reached our full potential!"

"Look at them!" he cried, jabbing a finger at the free mages. "The Chantry has them convinced. They deny themselves the pleasure of becoming something _glorious_."

"If madness is glory, give me obscurity," said Draco, drawing his arm back and sliding his feet wider ready for the battle.

"You are mad! There is _nothing glorious _about what you have become, Uldred," hissed Wynne.

Uldred laughed coldly. It sounded like stones clashing together. "Uldred? I am Uldred, and yet _not _Uldred. I am so much more."

Draco let out a harsh bark of laughter, so cold and evil, they all started. "Then by all means, let us see how much extra you have. We'll count it up once it hits the floor!"

Uldred smirked and nodded. "Fight then. I will still win. And then I will give you this gift warrior. I will implant a demon in your body. Imagine your raw strength, combined with that of a demon. What you could accomplish."

_Howe. _A sudden image of Howe's bloodied and broken corpse on the floor beneath him, the archdemon nearby, its skull hewn in two, and him standing above them all, with flaming eyes and fangs and claws like slivers of oblivion. _What could I achieve?_

But even as the images of glory and vengeance filled his mind, his heart rebelled. _If I do this, I'm no better than Howe or Loghain_. He scowled and with a monumental force of will, ground the temptation into the dirt. _I will not bow to you_.

He growled out, "My mind is my own, demon, and no one," he gripped his sword tightly in both hands ignoring his second sword, "Will take it from me."

Uldred snarled angrily. "Resistance! Everywhere I go resistance! _How very inconsiderate._"

He pointed to his left, at a mage with long grey hair and an unkempt beard. "I even have the First Enchanter on my side. Isn't that right Irving?"

Draco turned to the mage, and cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. The mages robes were more ornate, a deep gold in colour with purple highlights, and he bore a great seal on his breast, hanging from a silver chain.

"Irving!" cried Wynne starting forward, but Morrigan held her back, shaking her head at her, and pursing her lips.

"S-Stop him…" rasped Irving, looking at them with clear eyes, unsullied by enchantment. "He…He plans to make an army…destroy the templars and…"

Uldred let out a laugh. It was a high brittle sound, like breaking glass. "You're a sly little fox, Irving, telling on me like that. And here I thought he was starting to turn," he added turning back to them.

"Never!" spat Irving, glaring daggers at Uldred.

Draco nodded and whispered to Wynne out of the corner of his mouth, "You take the Litany and use it whenever he is about to do something."

Wynne, her mouth in a thin cold line, took the parchment and readied her staff.

"Enough," barked Uldred, stepping back and raising his hands, which started to glow with white fire. "I have decided your fates, and it will be done. Fight if you wish. It will make turning you into an abomination, _all the sweeter_!"

And with the sound of indrawn breath, he transformed, in a blinding flash of multicoloured light.

Draco, blinking furiously to clear his eyes, saw a blood-chilling sight. Uldred now stood as tall as an ogre, with deep, royal purple skin and two black horns curling straight from the back of his head. His flesh was strong and clearly defined, with spines of black horns running along his limbs and back, while huge mounds of flesh, arrayed in a flame like pattern emerged from his wrists and the back of his legs. His flesh was warped and twisted, as if he had been created by a child, then pulled apart and rebuilt from scratch. A dozen obsidian eyes glared at them, filled with…

"Pride demon," whispered Wynne.

Draco hefted his sword, and with a yell, rushed into battle.

A dozen more abominations leapt out of the darkness where they had been hidden, but Draco paid them no heed. One hurled itself into his path, but he cut it down without difficulty and ran on. Uldred snorted at him, and lowered his great bulk low to the floor, intending to charge him and grind him down. Without pausing in his stride, Draco drew his second sword as he ran, cutting down another abomination as he drew it. Uldred rushed him, but didn't take into account Draco's plan. As they collided, Draco felt his chest bend under the tremendous force of the blow and his armour buckled. But thankfully, Uldred pushed him back and raised himself off of him, revealing his throat. Draco thrust upwards with his second sword, aiming straight for the jugular. However, to his horror, the sword snapped when it struck the beast, cracking in two. _The magic must have protected him!_

Uldred snorted in amusement and reached his huge talons down to him. Draco, desperate, swung his family blade straight at the monsters chest. To his amazement, the sword sunk into the flesh without resistance, embedding itself a full foot in the abomination.

Uldred reared back, blue blood spilling from the rent in his breast and roaring in anger and pain.

Draco suddenly remembered the swords story.

_His father was sitting across from him, lifting the family blade in his hand, whetting the edge lovingly as his son watched him._

_"Pup, do you know why our family sword is grey iron and not something like redsteel or silverite?"_

_"No, father."_

_His father chuckled. "Our ancestor, Michael the Cunning, was a spendthrift old man. He never spent more money than he could. However, knowing that when he fought beside Calenhad he'd be going up against some of the best weapons in the realm, he had it taken to the Circle and enchanted. It cost him a fortune and he was broke for some time afterwards, but the enchantments linger. It is grey iron, but is as strong as silverite, but far lighter and just as keen. The enchantments also gave it its name."_

_"Whats its name?" Draco asked, sidling closer to his father._

_"Witchblade." At his sons bemused face, he laughed and ruffled his head continuing. "It can pierce through enchantments and magic, my boy. Not a lot of them, but it gave his enemies a nasty surprise when their enchanted armour was suddenly impaled by a lowly sword."_

Draco smirked, despite the pain in his chest as he heaved himself to his feet, gripping his sword loosely in his hand. _Witchblade indeed_. Now the ease with which it had cut through his enemies made sense. He hastily entered his Berserker Rage and rushed forwards at the disorientated Uldred. However, he heard a scream from behind him and he turned.

Lysa and Leliana were being forced back by the abominations, while Morrigan was being forced to raise defensive magic around her and Wynne as the abominations advanced on them. He glanced back at Uldred, before running back to help his companions. He knew he couldn't defeat Uldred on his own, and he needed Wynne to read the Litany. Witchblade soon found its mark in the abominations flesh, easily cutting down two before the others knew what was upon them. He still used one hand for the wielding of the sword, allowing for faster strikes, and leaving his free hand able to strike out and punch the monsters at every opportunity. With a last spurt of blood the last one fell, its head cloven in two.

Wynne yelped and pointed at Uldred. He had finally recovered from the blow from Witchblade and was now chanting something. Slowly, a vague white haze formed around a mage and she began to scream. "The Litany!" bellowed Draco as he rushed towards Uldred. Lysa and Leliana followed him, shooting at Uldred as they ran. From behind him Draco could hear the words of the Litany as Wynne read them aloud.

"_Master thy flesh,_

_Break the hold_

_Fuel the fires_

_Burn the cold_

_The mind is a haven_

_That no man may take_

_Free the wards_

_And break the curse._"

Uldred shrieked in anger and surprise as the light faded and lightning arced from the Litany into his back. He turned to them, just in time for two of his eyes to be blinded by well placed arrows. He reared back and roared in anger, before pointing a long talon at Lysa. A soft glow encircled the claw, before a bolt of energy lanced out, long and jagged, aiming straight at her. Lysa dodged to the side, only just in time. The flagstone where she had been standing cracked and blackened under the blow.

Uldred growled again, hurling magical fire from his fingertips. It engulfed Lysa and Leliana in a torrent of grey and blue. They screamed in agony, clawing at their bodies as they burned. Draco, seeing his friends in pain, felt the Rage getting stronger. He reached Uldred and began to hack with wild abandon at the giant, leaving deep jagged lacerations across his legs and abdomen, desperate to save his friends. Uldred staggered back under the assault but Draco soon felt the magical power of the demon turned upon him. He suddenly found himself stock still, imprisoned in an invisible cage that petrified him in place. He could do nothing other than stare at the demon in hatred. Free of assault from Draco, Uldred attacked the two mages, hurling sorcery and hexes at them. What was worse was that he was completely relaxed about it; he was doing it without incantation or hesitation, merely gesturing with a finger to send the magic straight at them.

Wynne was focused on countering the spells Uldred threw at them while Morrigan attempted to curse the demon with her own destructive power. However, nearly every spell was blocked by Uldreds own counter-spells. Soon, though Uldred was feeling the strain of his constant casting; he was forced to rely on simpler and simpler spells, allowing Morrigan and Wynne to counter-attack. Soon Uldred was forced onto the defensive. Draco tried to tug against the magical bindings, but he was still trapped in the prison. _Damnit! How is he still keeping the binding up?_

He glanced back at Lysa and Leliana. Their bodies still smoked and steamed, but they still breathed and he could see them struggling to move. Finally, Lysa managed to push herself up. She was, bizarrely, unscathed. Draco stared in shock. _She and Leliana were fried alive! How the-_

Uldred turned and saw the elf staggering to her feet. He growled angrily and spat, in a deep booming voice that reverberated in the corners of their minds; "It seems that the fires of the Fade did not break your mind as I hoped. No matter, I will still break you."

So saying he turned back to the mages and hissed, "Do you accept the gift I offer?"

Wynne hurriedly read out the Litany, thwarting Uldred once again.

Uldred turned about and roared at her, and drawing his hands together, prepared to hurl an orb of flickering blue and red flames, when-

Lysa shot him in his side, piercing his chest and slipping between his ribs. The fire guttered and died as Uldred swung about to face her again. Then he reared back howling in pain. Morrigan had hurled her own magic at Uldred, enchanted lightning arcing from her fingers and striking his chest. Smoke coiled from Uldred as he dispelled the sorcery and hurled his own bolt at her. Draco, desperate to help, gave one last pull at the bonds and was surprised to break free. He saw Wynne smile grimly at him and he nodded to her. He rushed forwards, sword in hand and swung at Uldred's belly with all his strength.

Uldred, alerted by his roar, turned, fast as a coiling serpent, and grabbed him. Draco felt his bones flex under the iron grip, then, felt himself being thrown through the air. He collided with the floor with a tremendous crash, near the ruins of his broken sword. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, spitting up blood. Uldred laughed, his harsh bellow of mirth echoing in the recesses of their skulls. "I grow tired of this, fools! Now, you will be mine!"

He held his hands close together, and a yawning void appeared between them, widening slowly. From within the void there gleamed eyes. Dozens of eyes, all cold, evil and empty.

Draco instantly knew that Uldred was going to summon demons to possess them. _What can we do? He'll…_'The chandelier is loose.'

He whipped his head up, staring at the ceiling. The chandelier was indeed loose; errant blasts of magic and the raw power unleashed had shaken it, and it rocked in its setting, hanging only by a few links of chain.

Gripped by a sudden burst of inspiration, he grabbed the hilt of his broken sword, and with all his berserk strength, turned and hurled it at the chain. It spun through the air, turning in a blur of silver, and hit a link. The metal creaked and shattered. Uldred looked up in time to see the large heavy spike aiming at his chest. Under the incredible weight of the chandelier, he buckled and hit the floor, the spike at the centre of the chandelier in his chest, and the dozens of the smaller spikes pinning his torso and limbs. Blue blood rocket skywards in a great cloud, before settling. Draco sat there, absolutely still and silent, as if he had been frozen in place. _…Sandal…? What. The. Fuck?_

Uldred shifted. "Fuck!" yelled Draco, standing up and grabbing Witchblade. But Uldred remained pinned. Morrigan suddenly laughed harshly, a feral smile on her lips and a wicked gleam in her eye. "It would appear that his lungs are crushed and his back broken. T'is time to end this."

"I agree wholeheartedly," spat Draco, stomping over to Uldred's head. The jet black eyes stared at him, livid with fury. Draco grinned, slowly. His teeth flashed in the pale corpse-light as he lifted his sword. _The bigger they are_, he thought as flesh, blood, muscle and bone were cloven by the sword, sending the head rolling away. _The harder they fall._

He pulled himself out of his Rage and turned to the mages. Uldred's demise had caused the magical bindings to vanish, leaving them free to stand and move. However, Irving was still on the floor, a slight elf maid with blonde hair and grey eyes helping him up. He nodded to her before turning to the others. "It would appear thanks are in order," he said, bowing to them. "I, Irving, First Enchanter of the Circle, bid thee welcome." Despite his sarcastic tone he sounded polite and his eyes betrayed the thanks and joy his words had hidden.

"Draco, Grey Warden of Fereldan," Draco replied, sheathing Witchblade over his shoulder. "My companions are Lysa, Grey Warden, Leliana, former laysister, and Morrigan a…" he hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"Witch of the Wilds," smirked Morrigan, leaning on her staff.

Irving chuckled. "I had guessed that. Judging by your arrival, most timely, I might add, you are here to recruit the mages?"

"Yes," nodded Draco. "But before we go there, Greagoir has called for the Rite of Annulment."

The mages all started in fear, and a few whimpered and covered their faces.

"However, he won't use it if you come down with me to the door and tell him that the Circle is clean and safe. Or I have to knock a certain way if you're dead and Uldred's gone," he added, shrugging. "However, that doesn't seem a problem now."

Irving smiled softly, his eyes warming. "Good old, Greagoir. Solid as a rock. Let us go. But," he groaned and Draco caught him, as did the elf. "Thank you Draco, Neria. You might have to support me for a few flights. A curse," he muttered as they climbed the stairs, "On whoever insisted that the Circle be housed in a tower!"

_The Great Hall_

At last once everyone had climbed down the many flights of steps to the ground floor, they met up with those Wynne had protected. Draco nodded almost imperceptibly to the blood mage. She nodded back. He noticed she was sitting by the former bewitched templar. He suddenly remembered her child and the man's wish of a family. Something of what he thought must have shown in his face, for they both nodded, and sidled closer to each other. He smiled at them, warmly and kindly. At last the great doors stood before the crowd.

Irving, disentangling himself from Neria and Draco, stepped forward and knocked on the door. There came the stamping of feet, and the rasping of steel from scabbards. Irving took a breath, then yelled at the top of his lungs, "Greagoir; though darkness haunts me my will shall not be broken!"

There was a sudden silence, but for the sound of soft breathing and the clink of metal. Then a voice cried out from the other side; "Thy will be strong in your time of need!"

"And all fear shall fall from me!"

"Irving?"

Irving rolled his eyes. "Yes. Now, would you kindly unlock the door?"

The great gates slowly swung open.

Greagoir stood there, his sword drawn and shied slack in his hand as he gazed at them in naked wonder. Alistair and Sten stood nearby, Alistair grinning like a pumpkin, and Sten as grim as ever, but inclining his head to them. As they crossed the threshold, the templars all raised their weapons, still unsure of the loyalty of the mages. Irving with a grunt stepped in front of Greagoir and folded his arms, his eyebrow raised. Greagoir looked him over once or twice, before turning back to Draco and asking, "Well?"

Draco nodded once and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Uldred betrayed the Circle in an attempt to gain power and to bring the mages to Loghain's camp. He summoned demons, but became possessed by a pride demon. With the help of my companions and Senior Enchanter Wynne, I was able to kill Uldred and the other blood mages and the abominations."

Greagoir and the other templars all let out a sigh of heartfelt relief.

"Is the Circle clear?" asked Greagoir, turning back to Irving, who inclined his head and replied, "Yes. I can vouch for all the mages and I-"

"No!" cried the previously imprisoned templar, knocking Irving aside and striding up to Greagoir, his face contorted with anger. "They are all blood mages! You can't let them go! What happens if-!"

"Enough!" yelled Greagoir, his voice and face harsh. "Cullen, you have no right to challenge the word of the First Enchanter. If he and the Wardens say all the threats have been dealt with _they have been dealt with_!"

Greagoir turned to a group his men and the mages. "Go into the Tower; find any survivors that may have been missed and find as many of the bodies of the dead as you can."

As the crowd moved past, they cried out happily and clapped the survivors and the party in the shoulders or yelled their gratitude. _Amazing how a life and death situation lowers people's hatred of one another. _Draco smiled thinly, clasping Alistair's outstretched arm, shaking it warmly.

"Next time, I'm with you, you got that Draco?" he grinned. "So what did you fight?"

Draco snorted, and counted of on his fingers. "Demons, blood mages, living corpses, abominations, a dead mage, Fade spirits, and a Pride Demon."

Alistair sighed regretfully. "So nothing out of the ordinary then?"

He ducked the well aimed punch at his jaw.

Greagoir and Irving were standing opposite each other, each glaring intently at the other. Greagoir finally nodded a small grim smile on his lips. "It is good to have you back, Irving."

Irving smiled gently. "Don't worry, Greagoir; I am certain we will soon be at each other's throats like we usually are."

Greagoir nodded, and they both turned to the crowd. "Food and beds have been prepared," the Knight-Commander declared to the relief of the crowd. "Eat what you want and rest; you have earned it."

As the press of people broke up and milled about the Hall, Irving and Greagoir moved to Draco and his companions.

"The Circle is damaged and broken," murmured Irving, gently stroking his beard as he looked at them. "But we will honour the Treaty. The Circle is at your command."

"As are the Templars," put in Greagoir. "If all the mages are entering the battle, there is little point in us standing in temples waiting for victory or defeat." He smiled thinly. "And I, for one, refuse to die in my hole like a rat when the darkspawn come."

_THANK THE MAKER! One down, two to go! _Draco crowed in the confines of his mind.

Sten frowned curiously. "The saarebas of your land are a strange folk; they speak openly, live in fear, and are willing to fight and die on behalf of a sheet of paper?"

Draco smiled up at the qunari. "Pride, Sten. Pride in themselves and their nation."

Sten nodded. "Warden, you are not as stupid as the other bas."

Draco smiled as Irving and Greagoir watched the qunari with a strange intense glare, though they both looked pleased at their words.

Wynne stepped forward. "Irving, I-"

Irving raised a hand, stopping her. "No, Wynne, we cannot lose you now. We will need you to help prepare the mages for the battles ahead."

"I am sorry Irving, but this man and his friends need my help more than you do. Please, allow me to help them," she implored.

Irving let out a long, regretful sigh. "Go, Wynne."

Wynne blinked owlishly a few times before smiling and nodding to Draco who smiled warmly at her.

"Welcome to the cause Wynne."

_And now,_ he thought as they all moved off to collect their food, and he pulled up alongside Lysa, _Time for some damage control._


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER Eight: Whispers**

**Anora**

_Denerim_

Two days after she read the letter, Anora was in the royal gardens, sitting on her bench, her head in her hands, thinking furiously. She had her eyes closed as she thought. It was important that she was noted to be here. The first lesson of espionage her father taught her was that if the enemy saw you in the open and not planning, he would become complacent. If her father _was _planning something, she could only hope that this would make him complacent, or warn him she was onto him. Anora had no experience of war and had never held a conversation of war with a general; her father had done his utmost to keep the darker side of life from his daughter, but even she had an idea of how to duel another commander, having spent a great deal of her time playing chess. Though she knew it was no substitute for the real thing, she at least knew the basic aesthetics of strategy and planning.

The letter from the First Warden was the chief element of her thoughts. It wasn't hard to conjure the words from memory.

_Warden Commander Duncan,_

_What you have to say is grim news, though hardly unsurprising. Reports from Orzammar, Kal Sharok and forts and outposts across Thedas, all show that the spawn are descending. Though whether they have truly found an Old God, or are searching, or something else entirely is happening, is open for debate. It is the opinion of the council that you must not rest easy however. Enlist as many as needed. We have already made contact with the Orelisian sect of the order. We know what your countrymen might think, but pride may be damaged; Blight wounds may not. Teyrn Loghain is the key to the war; if you can convince him to allow the Orelisian Order into Fereldan, the incursion, or Blight, might be easier dealt with._

_Brother, though it will pain you, should it be impossible to save Fereldan, withdraw your order to the border. The wardens are the only hope for your nation should it be a true Blight. Without them, Fereldan will be lost. The loss of one land is better than the loss of many._

_The First Warden._

She knew that the Wardens must do terrible things in order to combat the Blight, but to have physical evidence that they might abandon them should things turn ill, it made her worry. She sighed and leant her head back, resting her chin in her hands. A small butterfly flew past her, gently settling in the midst of a hydrangea bush. She watched it under her eye-lashes, unconsciously detailing the dark red and black patterns on its wings. She leant back on her bench, folding her hands demurely in her lap. The wind gently blew in the magnolia trees, making the leaves rustle and the petals of spring move like whispering lips. Anora clenched her shaking hands as the small pool bubbled. The sun pierced the clouds with a long bright lance, illuminating the garden with a soft glow. Anora stood swiftly and strode back to her office. A plan had begun to form in her head.

As she opened the door to her office, a page ran up, breathing heavily. She glanced at him, noticing the doublet; black, with a gold wyvern emblazoned on the breast above the heart. The boy bowed in respect before blurting out, "Your Majesty…" He suddenly clasped his side and groaned. She raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to follow her. Once inside she passed him a small glass of water. It paid, she had decided, to show the young pages kindness; you would have a little insurance when they became knights. He took it gratefully and drank, before clearing his throat. "Your Majesty, your father requests your presence in his office."

Anora froze. Something sent alarm bells ringing in her skull. She recovered quickly and dismissed the boy. She stood for a few minutes, her hands clasped together in front of her face, thinking furiously. Finally, she strode from her office, closing the door firmly behind her.

She found Loghain standing in full armour, his arms folded and standing before the fireplace, looming over a cowled and robed figure, sitting on a small chair. However as she approached, she saw his grim face was soft and sad. He looked up at her and said, "Anora, we have a respected guest."

Anora turned to look at the figure and started, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. "_Oriana_."

She hadn't seen Eleanor for several months before the raid, when she and Oriana had come to Denerim, in order to escape the tourney being held at Highever. They had left after a few weeks, following the news that the tourney had ended.

Now, she could barely recognise her. Her face was thin and pinched, hugging her skull closely; her skin was waxy and pale, while her hands, held closely to her chest, were misshapen and twisted, as if her fingers had been broken recently. But it was her eyes that were the most horrific; they were bound over by a long strip of white and grey silk. The poor woman was as still as stone, her face turned slightly towards the fire, expressionless as the wood on which she sat.

Anora stepped over to her with a strangled cry and gently took her hands. She felt her tense but she said, quietly and softly, "Oriana, please relax; it's me, Anora."

Oriana slowly loosened her muscles, holding her hands gently. Loghain tapped Anora on the shoulder. "Take her to your room, Anora."

Anora nodded and gently pulled Oriana away with her.

_The Circle Tower_

**Draco**

Wynne and Morrigan sat opposite each other, Morrigan glaring across the table at the older woman, silently eating her food. Sten was grim and surly as well, clearly disturbed by being surrounded by saarebas. Thankfully, everyone else was eating and drinking, relaxed and chatting. Wynne and Alistair were getting along surprisingly well, despite their obvious differences. Leliana was sitting beside Lysa, giggling and whispering. Lysa had given a rapid account of her escapades in the Fade, detailing to Alistair and Sten the bizarre creatures she had encountered and the inevitable battles which had occurred shortly after. Mages and Templars had also listened raptly, and Greagoir himself and looked impressed. The whole cafeteria was abuzz with talk, speaking of the Blight, the Tower and the stories of the survivors.

"Hey," said Alistair, his mouth bulging with food, and spraying it as he spoke. "Wha' waa Aaco's eam?"

Draco, standing in the shadows bereft of his armour and in his normal dark clothes, stepped forward and turned to Lysa, his eyebrow raised. He held out a hand politely, but his fingers were hooked like talons. "I have a bone to pick with you."

Lysa, with a slight tremble, stood and followed him, giving a reassuring nod to the others who soon returned to their meal.

As they walked away, Draco guided her to the small room, where they had spoken to Greagoir before entering the tower proper. He stood in the corner, watching her like a hawk, his paralysing gaze framed by his black hair and cast in shadow by the flickering torchlight. Lysa folded her arms, and glowered at him, opening her mouth to speak. "Look Draco, I don't see why-"

"Never breathe a word of what you saw," he said. His face was still as stone, but he knew his eyes and stance showed his true feelings; his body was uncomfortable, like a panther in a cage, his body thrumming with some alien emotion, something he had long prayed he had buried.

"If you breathe a word of what you saw..." He looked away, his eyes clouded, before watching her out of the corner of his eyes. "What you saw…Is something that should not be. It is…" Draco leant back his head and closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. He wanted to at last get all the feelings off of his chest. He had lived with them for _so long_; it would feel good to tell someone else. But, the old suspicion and old feeling of betrayal slammed back, poisoning the very idea of it.

Lysa was staring at him, her eyes filled with sadness, her entire body trembling. Draco ran a hand through his hair, and was ashamed to find he was shaking as well. _Well, all or nothing._

"I'm sorry, Lysa," he whispered, struggling to control himself. "All my life, I've…_loved _her. But it was not to be. That _hurts _me, Lysa. I saw her marry another man, unable to protest. I watched that same man shame her and abandon her time and time again. Anora," he hesitated and looked away. "Means the world to me."

He glanced back at Lysa. She was standing still as stone, her eyes moist, watching him. She slowly reached out and gently took his hand.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered sadly, sniffing slightly. "You never got a chance to…?"

"No; she was chosen for another at a young age. She's six years my senior," Draco smiled slightly. It wasn't hard to conjure up an image of Anora, sitting opposite him as they played chess, not long before he left for Orzammar. He was jolted from his reverie when Lysa stiffened. Her mouth moved soundlessly for a few moments. Then she gasped. Draco's eyes widened and he moved to quiet her, but before he could, she cried out; "You love Anora Mac Tir?"

Draco clapped a hand over her mouth, scanning the hall. Thankfully, no-one was too close and the only Templar nearby was busy watching the door to the rest of the tower, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Lysa, struggling like a captured eel, bit hard into his hand. He hissed and let go, waving his hand and glaring at her. She gasped for breath and spat out his blood.

"Keep it down," he whispered angrily, waving at the rest of the Tower. "I have had enough trouble already for this, so watch it."

Lysa leant against the wall and folded her arms, cocking her eyebrow at his words. He rolled his eyes.

"What? You thought my father took it well that all my affections were being wasted? He was very worried and mother took to taking me along to her meetings with other noblewomen so that I could see their daughters. Luckily no one else found out about it. I think they hoped that a few years in Orzammar would knock it out of me."

Draco smiled darkly, remembering his father's grim words and his mother's gentle speeches, and Fergus' failed attempts at getting him into one of the courtesan houses in the city. He stiffened and turned as Lysa began to leave. She turned and gently patted his arm. "Good luck with her, Brother."

Draco watched her leave, returning to the meal, glancing back at him once. _Odd that the only person to be agreeable to this is not from my family_, he mused. He reached up and gently ran a hand over his eyes. When he lowered his hand he was surprised to find it moist. He slowly ran his finger across his eyes, wiping away the tears. He clenched his fist and breathed hard. He shook his head and moved away.

Having rescued the situation, he drank and ate his fill and began to plan. He looked up at his companions, treasuring this small moment of peace and normality. Alistair looked over at him and frowned. "Hey, Draco, what's up?"

Draco looked into his goblet. He took a small sip of the mead before replying, "Down would be better. Orzammar is next."

Alistair nodded glumly and resumed eating his cheese. "Yeah, I know. You've been there before, what's it like?"

Draco snorted. "Hot as smithy and filled with rocks. Anything else?"

"You were there for five years Draco," admonished Leliana, chewing her leg of roast mutton. "Surely there must be more."

"Oh very well," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Well, they have a caste system. Basically, each child is born into a caste based on the caste of their same-sex parent, e.g. a son gets his father's caste, and a daughter the mother's."

"Can they leave?"

"No, they have to stay in the same caste. So in a way, it's a bit like the qun."

Sten nodded, looking pleased, or as pleased as he did, at the link.

"The only way someone can rise through the castes is to marry someone higher up. Of course, many marriages between the upper echelons are arranged."

"What about the nobles?" asked Leliana.

"Right. The nobles are the highest caste; everyone else is below them, apart from the royal house. Now, each noble house commands several other houses or families of varying castes, such as lower nobles and warriors and merchants and smiths etc. These nobles have the most freedom in the caste system; they can be poets, warriors, artists and so on."

He took another drink from his tankard and let out a short belch and resumed tucking into the feast. He could feel the others gaze focused on him, and he looked up from the roast mutton, gravy trickling from the corner of his mouth. Lysa sighed and tore at the chicken leg in her hands.

"Draco, that's still a little bare."

Draco rolled his eyes and finished the mutton, pulling a large salmon closer and starting on that as well. Sten looked at the two human Warderns in naked alarm.

"How can you eat so much and still not be satisfied?"

"The Taint," answered Alistair shortly. He was starting on his twelfth portion of cheese. "We get this unholy appetite and we tend to stuff our faces at every opportunity in order to increase our metabolism. Generally though we don't eat this much, but we've been on short rations, and the hunger gets worse in a Blight."

Leliana raised an eyebrow at that, before giggling softly as Lysa devoured an entire lamb chop in less than a minute.

Draco leant back from the half-eaten salmon and with another short belch, resumed speaking. "At the very bottom rung of society is the casteless, or 'brands' as they're known. These dwarves live in slums on the outskirts of the city. They have these tattoos on their faces, which show to everyone that they're casteless. They have no rights and are only hired for dirty work or as the men of the carta; the crime ring. The dwarves also have this form of ancestor worship; they believe that when a dwarf dies, they 'enter the Stone'. They believe that the honourable and the strong dwarves make the Stone stronger, while those who were weak or cowardly weaken the Stone. They quite literally worship the stone Orzammar is built from."

"So when they build or tunnel, they worship the Stone?"

"Aye, in a sense." Draco took another drink. He looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his chin ruefully. "Look, when we get to Orzammar leave everything to me. I know her and her politics, you don't. With any luck we'll have her on our side within a few days."

"What makes you so confident of that?" asked Morrigan, laying down her cutlery and pushing her plate away with a regal air.

"King Endrin is an old man, but still strong and hale. He should still be alive, and I know he at least has sense enough to help against the Blight, if only for his own benefit."

Sten sighed and pushed his plate away. Despite being the largest of the companions, he had eaten the least, sipping hot tea and eating a small plate of fish and bread. He looked at Draco and asked, "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow. We head north and circle round past Lake Calenhad and up through the Frostbacks to Orzammar's gate."

He pushed his chair and stood up. He nodded to them and walked away, nodding to Greagoir and Irving. He slowly strode through the tower towards the quarters that Irving had given them. He nodded and exchanged a few words with the Templars and mages he met. At his brisk pace, he soon reached the solar. It was large and comfortable, with a partition dividing the men's beds from the women's. There were several bookcases filled with large tomes and an armoire and a vanity in the corner. A door led to a small bathroom, with a large bath and a toilet in the garderobe. Grabbing his shaving equipment, he stood in front of the mirror in front of the wash basin, beside which was the chute to pour the used water away. He turned his head left and right, examining his appearance. Then he raised the razor to his hair. He hesitated. His mother, ever since he was a little boy, had said she had liked him with his hair longer than what was normal. Others had also said that it made him look better, and he rarely cut it, except to keep it under control. Personally, he had always wanted to wear it shorter. He made the first cut. His mother was gone. Why should he remain in the mould she and his father had wanted? He was no longer Draco Cousland. It was time to rip out the image and replace it with another.

He cut his hair again and again. Soon, it was a short messy mop of hair. He took the razor and removed his stubble, but decided to keep a little bit around his mouth. His mother had never liked him with a beard.

_The Next Day; the Great Hall_

**Lysa**

The companions finished packing their bags, stowing their repaired equipment and new items. Lysa glanced over at Draco. He had been given an Oathkeeper blade, one of the traditional swords of the Templar Order, to make up for his lost sword. He had it slung in a scabbard at his left hip, while his family sword was sheathed across his back over his right shoulder. He had explained that he wanted to try out a new style with his combat, mainly following the principle of having both swords within his reach would make his battles easier. He had also been given a heavy silverite plate and mail armour, as had Alistair, who had also gained a steel sword. She had been given reinforced light armour, as had Leliana. Sten and the two mages had remained in their previous armour however. She watched the Warden reach out and don his helmet, covering his face in the formless metal. It was eerily similar to a Templar helm, bar the fact that there was an embossed wolf on the each cheek. He had changed rapidly in the last twenty four hours. She could only surmise that going back to Orzammar was awakening old memories.

Greagoir and Irving each shook their hands, except for Sten and Morrigan, both of whom simply moved on through the doors and stood impatiently outside. Greagoir waved a mage forward. "This is Emissary Pether. He'll journey with you and send messages back to us off your progress and vice versa." Draco thanked him and they nodded to the mage. They trooped out in silence, marching down the steps outside and down to Carroll. The Templar blanched as he saw them all approach and hurried to move the boat off when they had all embarked. The sun slowly crawled across the sky, its golden disk warming their bodies as they cruised on. Lysa sighed and watched the dappled sunlight ripple across the water, relaxing her body. Soon they had reached the far shore. Bodahn and Sandal were waiting with the hounds. Dame and Rutger began barking joyously as they smelled them drawing near. Bodahn, looking immensely relieved, ran down to the pier and clapped Draco's arm as he disembarked.

"Oh, Ser, it is good to see you again! We were afraid…oh, but that's all in the past now Ser! Well, we're ready to leave now, so should we…As you say Ser! Where too?"

Draco looked at Bodahn, still hidden behind his helm. "Orzammar."

Bodahn paled so rapidly that he looked he had aged twenty years in a heartbeat. "Oh. Ah. Erm, Ser…?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "Don't worry, you could wait outside. I don't foresee any problems, so we shouldn't be long."

"Oh, thank the Ancestors and Andraste both!" Bodahn declared, relaxing, though he still looked ill.

Draco pulled off his helm and looked at it critically before placing it in the back of the cart. He patted Rutger's back and looked at Lysa, noticing her close scrutiny.

"Something wrong?"

Lysa sighed and shook her head. "No," she lied, smiling.

"Good."

And with that they set off. They marched north, through the forest about the lakeside, and slowly broke through the trees and slipped down a path atop a large steep slope, the lake shimmering to their left and the forest stretching to their right, while up ahead loomed another forest and many gullies that led back to the West Road and along to the Imperial Highway, from where, Draco said, they would turn west and reach Orzammar. The emissary sat in the back of the cart, gazing into the distant emotionlessly. Lysa strode on beside the others while Draco moved on ahead. _I wonder why he changed his appearance. Is it something to do with Orzammar?_

Alistair leant in beside her. "Hey, Lysa, what was that about with Draco?"

Lysa pursed her lips as she watched her fellow Warden vault over a large boulder and look back at them.

"I saw something in the Fade, and he doesn't want anyone to know about it."

Alistair raised his eyebrows, but Lysa waved him off. She didn't want to risk a broken arm for revealing his secret.

Leliana glanced at Draco then pursed her lips. Morrigan turned to Lysa. "T'was some dark secret, I take it?"

Lysa hesitated. _How to answer that without making some problems?_ "You could say that."

Sten sighed and looked away, muttering under his breath. Wynne smiled at him sympathetically.

"We must seem bizarre to you, Sten."

"You do not seem bizarre saarebas. You _are_ bizarre."

Wynne smirked and reaching inside her satchel pulled out a mabari crunch which she then handed to Dame. The bitch snapped it up eagerly and licked her hand appreciably. Wynne looked back up and turned to Lysa.

"I'm sorry, Lysa, but I don't believe I asked how you came to be a Warden?"

Lysa sighed and slowed her pace marginally. The bright day seemed suddenly darker.

"Until just over a month and a bit ago, I lived in Denerim. I was arranged to marry a man called Nelaros, but on the wedding day, I and several other women were kidnapped by the Arl's son, Bann Vaughan. Duncan, Draco and Alistair were in the city with Rutger, and Duncan sent them to free me. They got me and my cousin out, but everyone else died."

"Along with everyone in the way," put in Alistair, shaking his head.

"Yeah, then because of the slaughter, the Guard was going to have me arrested and executed, and Duncan used the Right of Conscription to pull me into the Order. And the rest is history," she finished.

Wynne nodded and patted her arm consolingly. "I know it wasn't your choice, but thank you, for being so brave."

Lysa smiled. Leliana chuckled.

Lysa looked on ahead, and saw that Draco was standing in the middle of the road waiting for them. He turned back to them and waved them on.

They trudged on, only stopping for food and to relieve themselves. The sun began to sink in the west, covering the horizon in golden fire. The party finally halted in an open clearing with a few fallen trees beside a stream. Draco slung of his baldric and laid it on the ground, sitting down beside it. He raised his gaze to the sky, watching the evening draw in.

"We'll rest here tonight. We'll move off two hours after dawn." And with that he drew both his swords and began to sharpen them on a whetstone drawn from his pouch. Sten sat down silently on one of the fallen trees and drew his greatsword, resting it across his knees. Morrigan turned and drew her folded tent from the cart and began to set it up in a far corner of the camp. Leliana and Lysa drew their bows and with a wave, moved off to find something to hunt. Lysa slipped through the trees silently, and spotted a hart standing beside his hind. Silently, she drew an arrow and, taking aim, loosed it. It missed the hart and sunk into the hind's thigh. The deer panicked and loped off. Cursing, she drew another arrow, but Leliana was a calmer shot. She fired and felled the hind, while the hart escaped.

"Next time," said Leliana, grunting as they heaved the deer back to camp, "Aim at the head."

"I did!" exclaimed Lysa, annoyed. Leliana giggled.

Draco looked up at the hind and nodded. "Well, we'll eat well tonight at least." He returned to the cart and gathered his cooking gear and skinning and gutting knives. The two of them left him at it as he gutted the corpse. Lysa sighed and set up her own tent. She rubbed her eyes.

_What is it with me today? I can't shoot the damn deer, and I can't concentrate!_

She knew though. The dreams in the Fade had confused her terribly. On the one hand, she had found Draco's secret (or one of them), and she had dreamed of being married to Leliana. _Not that it was a bad dream_, she thought, blushing despite herself. But what worried her most was Leliana's dream. _What was it in her past that made her join the Chantry? Did she commit a crime, or was she someone's supporter?_ She resolved to ask Leliana at the next opportunity. Looking up from her tent she saw Sten feeding the two hounds. There was a small smile on his face as he gently patted Rutger's head, rubbing the last remaining ear. Dame whined happily and thumped her small tail against the ground.

"I think the two of them like you, Sten," said she, smiling happily. Sten looked up and snorted quietly, but he still petted them.

"Hey," called Alistair. She turned and burst into laughter.

He pouted. "Help me," he said piteously. He had somehow managed to get himself tangled in his canvas and was holding the poles in his hands. Lysa shook her head and managed to help him make his tent. He sighed. "I swear this never happens. I mean I can usually do it every night!"

"Keep that kind of shit to yourself," said Draco, marching the carcass to the fire Bodahn and Sandal had made and placing it on a spit. Alistair spluttered, thought for a second, and then shrugged.

Wynne smiled and shook her head and passed Draco the bag filled with seasoning. Draco took it and sprinkled pepper and salt over the meat along with sage. He rose and quickly set up his own tent, and shortly thereafter, they all sat about the fire and began to eat.

_The Kocari Wilds_

Fergus awoke to a splitting headache. The pain felt very much like the pain on that day six years ago, the day Draco had…

His eyelids fluttered and through the foggy film that obscured his vision, he saw the insides of a tent. From the apex hung dozens of small fetishes and totems on long strands of corded string. It was a circular tent, about eight feet high, and held up by about twelve poles, meeting at the apex of the tent. He sat up and groggily ran a hand through his hair.

"You live," said a voice.

Startled, Fergus spun his head around raising his fist defensively. The tent flap was open, and a figure stood there. It was a woman, short, stout, and covered in tribal tattoos, and dressed in fur robes.

"To be honest," she said, sitting down beside him. "When you were brought here we thought you would die. Your wounds were extensive. Your ribs were shattered in many places and your face was heavily damaged. Rest," she said, pushing him back to the bedding. He groaned and tried to rise again but she flicked his forehead and he fell back, in a mix of pain and surprise.

The woman snorted and leant back, rocking in her place.

"Where am I?" he croaked. His throat burned and it made it hard to talk.

"You are in the Korcari Wilds, eight leagues south and west of your fortress."

"My squad…?"

"All dead. You survived the attack." She shrugged. "How, I don't know. But you were found by a witch, who brought you here."

Fergus' eyes widened. _A witch! I thought the Witches of the Wilds were stories alone!_

"What about Ostagar? What is the situation there?" he asked, worried. His unit had discovered that the horde was growing larger by the hour and was beginning to move north.

The Chasind looked away and sighed sadly. "I am afraid…"


End file.
